From the Shadows
by Yami Faerie
Summary: "Demon Blood" 'verse. The boys head to Maryland to check out an abandoned convent and a man who claimed to be possessed years ago by Azazel. Jo Harvelle's looking into a dead lawyer in the same area, while Scott's being stalked and Ava's paranoid.
1. Chapter One: Paranoia

**From the Shawdows**

**Chapter One: Paranoia**

**Well, today I am moving from one state to another with my husband (a distance of over 900 miles), so here's the first chapter of this newest story a day earlier. I hope I'll have another chapter out before Christmas, but if not, Merry Christmas! And to those who celebrate other holidays, I wish you the happiest of holidays!**

**Also, remember, this is part of my AU "Demon Blood" 'verse. There's some swearing, a little violence and death heading your way. Just so you know. Enjoy!  
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* * *

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Joanna Beth Harvelle slammed out the door of the Roadhouse, rucksack slung over one shoulder as she headed for an old Toyota pick-up that had belonged to her father before his death. Her mother's voice was still ringing in her ears.

"_You are _not_ goin' Hunting while you live under this roof!"_

"_Then I'm gone, Mom, and you can't stop me."_

And she didn't.

Yeah, it had been stupid of her to go and get herself nabbed by the ghost haunting that apartment complex over in Philadelphia, and yes, it was only her mother's determination and knowledge that had saved both their asses, but now that she'd gotten a taste for it, Jo just couldn't stop herself from wanting to Hunt. She'd been the freak with the knife collection when she'd tried going to college, and she was the pretty girl who knew too much in her mother's bar. She'd had enough of trying to be something she wasn't.

Even better, Jo already had a case lined up over in Baltimore. A lawyer named Anthony Giles had died in his locked office, throat slit. His office was clean, and the security cameras had failed to capture the assailant. That meant someone had tampered with the tapes, or it was some kind of spirit. Either way, she was checking this one out.

"Sorry, Mom," she whispered before gunning the engine and pulling away.

* * *

"It's infected."

Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair. They were currently staying in a tiny motel just outside of Ilchester, Maryland. Really, Ilchester wasn't a city so much as what Sam thought of as a tiny hamlet that was part of the more spread out area called Ellicott City. And that name reminded him of the ghost of Dr. Ellicott that had brought out his rage to a point where he couldn't control himself, which made him wonder if Dean still ever thought about that night when he'd shot him with rock salt and almost killed him with Dean's own gun. What bothered him most was that those things he had said to Dean that night were things he _had_ thought before L.A., but would never have voiced. Now he was scared of himself and what he could do if Dean _wasn't_ there for him.

Then he realized his mind was really wandering, which didn't usually happen unless he was sick or dealing with a bad infection. "We robbing a pharmacy tonight, then?" he asked once he managed to drag himself back to the present situation.

"I'm going," Dean said, stepping back from Sam and dropping onto the nearest bed. "You're staying here, kiddo."

Sam couldn't help the scowl that crossed his face, even though he knew it would be better if Dean went alone. Dean's emotions told him he understood and he was sorry, but it was what it was.

Dean stood after a moment had passed and grabbed his jacket. "I'm gonna find food, and you're gonna sit there and do nothing to aggravate that arm of yours in any way, got it?"

"Yes, Dean," Sam intoned with a roll of his eyes. "Don't get distracted by anything with legs."

Dean gave Sam a light cuff to the back of his head and then he left. Sam stayed where he was, slumped in his seat and staring at nothing.

This sucked.

After some length of time, Sam's eyes were drawn to the research he had pulled up. The man they were looking for was named Fredric Lehne. He had once been a priest at St. Mary's convent, only a few minutes drive from where they were, and he had been possessed by Azazel, who disemboweled eight nuns inside the chapel. The once-Father was now located inside the Clifton T. Perkins Hospital Center in Baltimore and was considered one of the calmer patients.

The only thing that made him crazy was that he continued to insist that it had been demonic possession responsible for the death of those nuns, and not him. Dean had come across this information when helping their father try to track down everywhere Azazel had been between 1972 and 1983 in an attempt to find where he'd been holding Sam during his time in captivity. Amazingly, Lehne was still alive, so Sam and Dean hoped they could get in to see him and find out if there was anything else he remembered from the possession. This was the only way they had found so far to try and determine what Azazel's end game could be.

Sam's cell phone started ringing, and he picked it up, stared at the screen for a moment and then pressed the talk button. "Hello?"

"Hey, Sam? It's Ellen."

"Oh, hey," Sam said. "How are you? Dean told me you went to save Jo over in Philadelphia a few days ago."

"Yeah," Ellen sighed, "and then Jo decided she wanted to keep Hunting and ran off earlier this afternoon. Ash told me that Gordon was tracking you and that Scott kid?"

"Yeah, he was," Sam said.

"So, what happened?"

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair before remembering he wasn't supposed to move his left arm around at all. "Well," he said, dropping his arm to his lap, "Gordon was tracking us both, but there was a succubus in town along with one of the demons that I met back in L.A. and it got crazy complicated and ended with Gordon in jail along with Gerald Humphrey and his nephew, Thomas."

"Wait," Ellen said, "Hunter Gerry? In jail?"

"Well, he and Thomas managed to get out, but Gordon's still behind bars since the cops found evidence that he'd been tracking both Scott Carey and me along with his impressive arsenal."

"Wow," Ellen said after a moment. "I think you and Dean are gonna have to stop by sometime and give me the whole story."

"Yeah," Sam said.

"Anyway," Ellen continued after a moment, "the main reason I called is because I think Jo's headed to Baltimore to work a case. You boys anywhere near there?"

Sam frowned. "As it just so happens, we are," he said, sitting up straighter and opening his laptop. "Any idea what the case is?"

"Man had his throat slit in his office a couple days back," Ellen answered. "There's no prints or witnesses, and the security cameras didn't catch anyone, which could mean tampering or a spirit."

"Huh," Sam said. "Well, I don't think that has anything to do with why we're here, but I guess I could take a look into it."

"What _are_ you two out there for?" asked Ellen. "You didn't find another kid, did you?"

"No," Sam said, "it's got more to do with Azazel." It wasn't something he really wanted to talk about. "Anyway, did you want us to keep an eye out for Jo or something?"

"Please," Ellen said. "I can't stop her from doing what she wants, but I can't stop from worrying about her, either. It really would mean a lot."

"All right," said Sam, "I'll let Dean know and we'll keep our eyes peeled."

"Thank you," said Ellen. "And Sam? You take care of yourself, you hear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sam said with a smile. He ended the call and pulled up his web browser. Throat slitting was a demon's M.O., but he got the feeling that this was something else entirely. He resettled into his seat and began his latest bout of research.

* * *

Scott Carey was bored. He didn't mean to be, but celebrating Ryan Fulmer's nineteenth birthday mere days after his life had changed irrevocably seemed so mundane after everything.

He kept his gloved hands folded close to his chest as he watched other boys and girls around Ryan's age have a fun time socializing while they drank punch and ate pizza from his spot against the wall. It was so normal, everything Scott had ever known until he'd developed the ability to electrocute people, fry their insides until they were dead.

If it hadn't been for Sam and Dean Winchester, Scott was pretty sure he would have remained to total recluse who got stabbed to death by an insane Gordon Walker. As it was, life in general was just… different. Sharper. Bigger, broader, whatever. It was different, and so was he.

"You've changed." Scott blinked and focused on the blonde girl standing in front of him.

"Oh, hey Callie," he said, meeting her green eyes. "How are you?"

"I'm good," Callie Parker answered. "Mind telling me what happened to you?"

Scott raised his eyebrows. "What makes you so sure I'm a changed man?" he asked.

Callie shrugged, turning so she was leaning against the wall, as well. "You're quieter," she said after a moment. "I wouldn't say you were an extrovert a year ago, but you seem more cautious when you're not lost in your own thoughts. Plus, gloves in early September? It's not officially fall just yet."

Scott glanced down at his hands. "Fashion statement," was all he said, and Callie gave a soft chuckle.

"Still got the same sense of humor," she said. "But seriously, though, you all but disappeared these last few months. Why come out of the woodwork now?"

"Why not?" Scott shot back. "Big showdown in the middle of the street that makes sense to no one but the people involved can't be a life-changing experience?"

"So you _were_ there that night last week," Callie said, giving him a shrewd look. "No one really seems to know what happened."

"Yeah," Scott said.

Callie stared at him for another long moment. "You're not gonna tell me?"

Scott sighed. The fact of the matter was that, after everything he'd been through, he was wary of trusting others. What if Callie was possessed by another demon? Sam and Dean had left, and he didn't know Thomas Humphrey well enough to just pick up the phone and start asking questions. He had Sam's number, too, but he wasn't about to go calling him just because he was feeling scared and paranoid about everything and everyone.

"My life was saved that night," he finally said. "That's the most important thing."

"You mean from that psychopath the police arrested?" Callie asked.

Scott nodded. "He was planning to kill me," he said, "and well… It's still pretty confusing to me, but the guy was caught and he won't be getting outta jail anytime soon." He looked down at Callie and smiled. "If it hadn't been for the events of that night, I'd probably be dead now."

Callie looked at him. "That's all I'm gonna get outta you, isn't it."

"Yep." Scott managed a grin and looked away. "Want some pizza?"

Callie grinned back. "Thought you'd never ask."

The rest of the party was more enjoyable, though Scott still maintained physical distance out of habit. Regardless, he found he was able to relax for the first time in almost a year. The world was different now, but he could still live a fairly normal life, right?

It wasn't until he was walking back across the street to his house that the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Scott paused by the front door, key in the lock, and looked around. Nothing seemed out of place, but the sudden wariness was something he now knew better than to ignore.

Someone was watching him, and he didn't like it.

* * *

Sam was still awake when Dean returned from the hunt for food and medicine. He rolled his eyes, dropping Sam's food and meds next to his laptop and glanced at the screen, fully expecting to see something about the other special children or maybe something on that convent they were going to visit in a couple days.

"Who's Anthony Giles?"

Sam glanced up from the bag of take-out. "Huh? Oh, he's a defense lawyer in Baltimore."

"A _dead_ lawyer," Dean said, frowning at the laptop display. "Why're you lookin' at that?"

"Ellen called," Sam answered, grabbing the container of antibiotics with his right hand, left clenched in his lap. The trembling must've taken over it, again. "Said she found Jo and finished the job, but that Jo found something out here and took off again. I told her we'd keep an eye out for her."

Dean nodded slightly, reading over the article. "Sounds fine," he said, glancing down at Sam's left arm just in time to see his clenched fist relax. "Now eat up and take those pills. We've got a trip to make to that state hospital in the afternoon and I want you to at least _try_ and get some sleep tonight. It was a bitch getting that interview set up so we need to be as focused as possible."

Sam nodded silently and started eating. Feeling satisfied, Dean turned on the TV and started channel surfing, pausing on the CW to scowl at the current show playing before moving on. Smallville had too much drama and never enough action for him. Why couldn't there be a cool show about Batman?

About an hour later, Sam was struggling to keep his eyes open and Dean smiled to himself as he rejoiced in the power of the antibiotics he'd procured for Sam. These particular ones caused drowsiness, and it looked like they were gonna knock Sam out real good.

"OK, Sasquatch," Dean finally, heaving himself off the bed and walking over to his little brother. "I think it's time you hit the hay."

"Don' wanna," Sam slurred petulantly, and Dean was vividly reminded of a nine-year-old Sammy with the flu. It was almost too cute to think about.

"I know," Dean said, pulling Sam to his feet, "but I'm the big brother and I say it's bedtime. C'mon."

He helped Sam get ready for bed and even tucked him in. "M'not a kid, Dean," Sam sighed as he shifted into a more comfortable position.

"Yeah," Dean said quietly, "I know. Sleep well, little brother."

It was the first time in months that Sam slept the whole night through, suffering from only one mild nightmare that Dean was able to soothe away before Sam could wake up. It was the best sleep Dean had had in a while, too, and while he knew he should feel guilty for essentially drugging Sam, he couldn't. Not when they both needed this.

Dean's dreams were filled with happy memories of the times John had been their dad and Sam had been small and innocent, looking up to Dean with trust and love-filled eyes that didn't know the turmoil of the future that lay ahead.

* * *

Ava Wilson tried, she really did, but she couldn't stop herself from flinching when Brady touched her shoulder to get her attention.

"OK," Brady said after a moment, moving into her line of vision, "that's it. Ava, we really need to talk."

Ava tried to smile innocently. "About what?"

The look Brady gave her reminded her an awful lot of her mother when she tried to lie about staying out late. Good thing her parents still lived down in Palm Beach.

"About whatever happened to you last week," Brady said, sitting down next to Ava at the kitchen table. After the events in Lafayette, Indiana, Ava had moved in with her fiancé, Brady Walker. It was something they'd been contemplating for a while now, so it wasn't a huge shocker to Brady when she made the choice to move into the house he was renting. However, it was more than obvious to her that he was bothered by the sudden paranoia.

The fact of the matter was that Ava was bothered by it, too. She watched as Brady ran a hand through his black hair and bit his lip, almost as though he wasn't entirely certain where to start. Ava bit her lip, as well. Would he believe her if she told him the truth? Or would he call her crazy and try to have her committed?

"Why'd you cancel that dinner?" Brady finally asked. "It was so sudden."

Ava sighed and looked away. "You know how I started having nightmares about a year ago?" she asked, and Brady frowned, but nodded. "Nightmares that I couldn't really remember? Well, last week, I had one that was so realistic I almost thought it was really happening." After a moment, she forced herself to meet Brady's brown eyes. "It was like I was really there, watching this black guy kill some kid named Scott Carey because he was _different_."

"Different how?" Brady asked.

"Scott could electrocute people with one touch of his hand," Ava said, "and this black guy killed him for it." She dropped her head back and stared at the ceiling. "I couldn't help it, I was curious to know if the grocery store I saw was real, if the street name was real… And it was."

Brady blinked. "What?"

"The scene of my nightmare actually exists in Lafayette, Indiana," Ava said, watching Brady sadly. "_And_ there's a guy named Scott Carey who lives in that city."

Brady didn't say anything for a long moment. "It was… a vision?"

Ava sighed and nodded. "I didn't want to believe it, but something in me didn't want to take the chance that I'd witnessed a murder before it could happen, so I cancelled on you and drove out to Lafayette. That's where I met Sam and Dean Winchester. Sam's the guy you saw with the uh… the blood on him," she added. "Dean was the one with the short hair, and Scott was the other kid with the curly-ish hair."

Brady was silent again. "You really had a vision?" he asked softly.

Ava nodded again and explained everything that had happened, everything she'd been told. Brady took it all in with very few questions.

"I know I seem really paranoid right now," Ava said, winding down, "and you're right. I'm freaked out that someone like Gordon could find me and try to kill me like Scott, or that another demon could possess someone I care about like Karena…" She shook her head and huffed out a laugh. "I don't know how to stop it," she told Brady, finally meeting his eyes. "I don't know how to live my life the way I used to when I half-expect my own shadow to try and do me in."

"Ava," Brady finally said, "it's OK. This all sounds so…"

"Crazy?" Ava suggested.

"Yeah," Brady said with a small smile, "but this Gordon never heard more than your first name, right? That means any fucked-up friends he might have, they have no idea where to find you. And as for demons…" He trailed off and shook his head. "I guess we learn to take the same precautions this Sam and Dean take. I've always wanted to learn Latin," he added with a small grin.

Ava smiled and pulled Brady close. "That's why I love you," she whispered before kissing him. "Just, be patient with me, OK? I think it's cool to know what's really out there, but I've been paranoid about it, too, and it could take me awhile to come to terms with that."

"I can live with that," Brady whispered before pulling Ava into another kiss. She forgot about her paranoia for the rest of the night after that.

* * *

TBC...


	2. Chapter Two: Fredric Lehne

**From the Shadows**

**Chapter Two: Fredric Lehne**

**Notes: Here's chapter two of the next story in the "Demon Blood" 'verse. Once again, there's a lot that's going to happen, there's going to be more swearing in the future, more violence, and some death. Kinda can't help it, I'm afraid. One quick thing to remember: in season two Ava does give her fiance's name as Brady, but in season five we're introduced to Sam's best friend from Stanford, also named Brady. While we don't meet Sam's Brady in this story, he _is_ going to be mentioned, so be aware that there's a distinction made between the two in terms of surnames. I guess I should make note that these stories _will_ contain spoilers regarding seasons 1-5, and even a little fact from season 6 in a later chapter; I'll let you know when. Anyway, enough rambling from me, please read on and lemme know what you think!

* * *

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"You should call Thomas now that he's not in prison," Sam told Scott the next morning as he watched Dean throw away the remains of their breakfast. "It's one thing to be paranoid and overreact than it is to be paranoid and end up dead, anyway. If there's anyone watching you, Thomas or his uncle will figure it out."

"OK," Scott said over the phone, sounding relieved. "How do I know it isn't a demon or something?"

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the waves of Dean's curiosity and trying to focus. "The main problem with knowing is that any demon Azazel sends your way is going to be blending in so they won't seem out of place in your life."

"But you knew that Mrs. Weston was possessed," Scott pressed.

"And I'm the biggest freak of us all," Sam deadpanned, and Dean's curiosity was now tinged with annoyance. "Look, there's really no way you'll be able to tell unless they slip up, start acting out of the ordinary."

_Like Brady Miller._

The thought came from nowhere and Sam felt his insides freeze. No. Not him, it couldn't be.

_He's the one who introduced you to Jessica._

"Sam?" Scott asked.

"What? Sorry," Sam quickly said, turning away from Dean and staring at the nearest wall as his brother's curiosity and annoyance became _concernSammywhat'swrong_. "Look, you need to be cautious about the things you say to people, but don't let the paranoia take over. If there's anyone watching you, Tom or Gerald'll find them, I promise."

"All right," Scott said after a moment. "Thanks, Sam."

Sam ended the call and dropped his phone on his bed, still staring at the wall and trying to block out Dean's emotions. It wasn't working.

"Sam?" Dean said after a long moment.

"Huh?" Sam said, forcing himself to look over at his brother.

"Scott doin' OK?"

Sam nodded quickly and turned away, grabbing his bag and pulling out his "FBI" suit as his thoughts raced. He'd been able to go through his memories and identify various people that he thought had been possessed by demons on Azazel's orders to train him, sway him, but his best friend from Stanford had never once been on that list. Until now, anyway. How had he not been? It was so _painfully_ obvious now that he thought about it.

Dean suddenly stepped into his line of sight, a frown marring his features and concern in his eyes, which made the fruitless effort of ignoring his emotions become even more so. "What's got you all freaked out?" he asked, and Sam couldn't help but sigh at the question.

"Nothing, Dean," he answered, pulling on his button-up shirt, being mindful of the bandage on his left arm and trying to think of something he could say to distract Dean from what was really going through his head. "Is Gordon the type to call in for back-up?"

Dean blinked at the question. "I dunno," he said, "I mean, he didn't want our help with those 'vegan-vamps' until we showed up and saved his ass."

Sam didn't like remembering that Hunt, and especially not that night. "D'you think he would call in others if he thought he might not finish a job?" Sam asked.

Dean stared at him for a long moment. "You think Scott _is_ being followed," he said, "and you think it's another Hunter."

Dean was distracted from the truth Sam didn't want to consider. He took a moment to feel relief before focusing and giving Dean a nod. "Scott's not going to be able to sense demons like I can," he told Dean as he headed over to the bathroom mirror to put on his tie, "paranoid or not. Besides, demons aren't watching him the way they tend to watch us."

_That_ caused a pretty big emotional spike.

"Whoa, wait a minute," Dean said, grabbing Sam's shoulder and turning him so they were face-to-face. "You never said a _thing_ about demons were watching us from afar, Sam."

"I didn't realize that I could sense more than Azazel until Mrs. Weston showed up last week," Sam said shortly, turning back to the mirror. "I guess Azazel's presence is stronger than all the others, so they just didn't really stand out to me before."

Dean sighed and took a step back. "I guess that explains some of your behavior lately," he said, the concern _finally_ starting to fade a little as the need to break the tension rose to the surface.

"Only some?" Sam asked, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth in spite of himself.

"Yeah," Dean said, humor and sheer _relief_ rising to the surface. "The rest is nothing but buckets of crazy."

"Gee, thanks Dean," Sam said sarcastically, though he was still grinning a little. "Nice to know what you really think of me."

Dean cuffed his shoulder. "Just makin' sure my little brother knows where he stands," he replied with a grin of his own, the concern fading back into the background once more. "Now, c'mon, the appointment's in three hours and I need more food."

* * *

Fredric Lehne was old. Old, tired, stiff, but never grouchy. How could he be? Sure, no one was ever going to believe him about what happened that day over 30 years ago, but despite the fact that everyone thought he was crazy, he was actually taken care of here. The women looked at him with pity while the men would just shake their heads, but the fact of the matter was that he was old and possibly senile. He wasn't a threat, not like that demon had been.

So being interviewed by the FBI was something he found to be out of the ordinary.

"Agents Schon and Perry," the shorter man said, holding out his hand as he and the taller man took their seats across from Fredric.

"Hello," Fredric said, taking the offered hand in the firmest grip he could manage with his aching arms. "What can I do for you?"

"We have some questions regarding the events of May 2, 1972," said Agent Schon. "You _do_ recall what happened that day, right?"

Fredric sighed. It was something he wished he could avoid speaking about for what remained of his long life, but there was always someone out there who had to know, who thought they could solve once and for all whether or not he was crazy. He _wasn't_, and he knew it. If only he could convince anyone of the truth…

"I do," he finally said, rubbing at his chest to ease the tightness there.

"Could you tell us about the days leading up to the event?" Perry asked.

"It was the morning of the attack," Fredric said. "There was nothing suspicious at all, nothing until the black smoke came out of nowhere and crammed itself down my throat."

"Black smoke," said Schon, and the tone angered Fredric.

"No one believes me," he said, staring at the two men. "Why should you?"

Perry seemed to hesitate before speaking. "There are uh, similar cases to yours popping up in the Midwest, Mr. Lehne, so anything you can tell us…" He trailed off and his eyes dropped, but Fredric caught something in them, something that made him think at least this man might just believe him.

"The black smoke was a demon," he said after a moment. "I never thought demons could tread on holy ground, but it got into the convent and it possessed me." He hesitated. "It was the demon who killed those sisters, but it used my body to carry out its work."

"Do…" Perry paused before raising his eyes. "Do you remember anything about this demon or why it was there?"

Fredric sighed. "You've read the case report, haven't you?" he said wearily. "The demon's name was Azazel, and it — " He broke off, shaking his head just enough to get the point across without making his neck hurt more. "It wasn't _me_," he finally whispered. "I'd never —"

"I know," Perry said, voice uncharacteristically soft for an FBI agent. Fredric leaned forward slightly, taking a closer look into the eyes of the floppy-haired agent, and then he saw it: this man believed him, honestly and truly.

He suddenly felt lightheaded and the tightness in his chest began to become increasingly painful. "Mr. Lehne?" Perry said, tone changing to concern. "Are you all right?"

Fredric tried to breathe, but it was getting harder and harder and he felt his eyes bulging in their sockets.

"Oh, shit," Perry said, standing and moving around the table, "I think he's having a heart attack."

"What?" said Schon, also standing.

"Get help!" Perry shouted as the world lost its balance and tipped on its side. The tall agent caught Fredric as he slumped off his chair. "Mr. Lehne, hold on, we're gonna get you help and you'll be OK."

Somehow, Fredric knew it was finally his time, but he had to tell the young man holding him up what he remembered from that day. "Azazel," he gasped out. "He… said, he said…"

"It's all right, you don't have to say anything right now," Perry said hurriedly, eyes shining slightly as Fredric managed to meet them with his own again. "You're gonna be fine."

"No," Fredric wheezed, "finally done… But he said… cage, a cage that opened in the…" He gasped for air. "In the convent," he finally managed. "Whisper through the keyhole, need to free…"

The world was losing its focus, and Fredric reached out almost blindly to grasp at the agent's jacket. "Lilith, needs Lilith for Seals and…" His air was almost gone, but he needed to tell the believer what he could remember. "… and… special children… demon's blood… best one…"

And then it was all gone.

* * *

"Mom, would you just listen to me for a moment?" Ava all but shouted into her phone as she exited the local grocery store, three plastic bags on her left arm and another two hanging from her right. "We've already picked the date, March thirtieth, _next year_, and that's that."

"But Ava —"

"But _what_, Mom?" Ava snapped as she reached her car. "It's a perfectly reasonable time to get married. We've both already talked with our bosses and got it arranged so Brady and I can go to Hawaii for our honeymoon, learn to surf and make flower necklaces or whatever for two weeks."

"But it's not convenient for your father, nor me," her mother said in her _reasonable_ tone, making Ava want to bash her head against her car repeatedly. "Couldn't you do the weekend after that?"

"No," Ava said firmly, pulling out her keys to unlock her car. "It's always been about what's _convenient_ for you and Dad, never me, and I'm _not_ putting up with it this time." She took a deep breath. "This wedding, Mom, it's about _me and Brady_, not you and Dad. I'm sorry if you can't make it, but it's set and we're not changing it." She clicked her phone shut and wrenched her car door open, accidentally dropping one of her bags in the process. "Dammit!" she growled, shoving the other grocery bags behind the driver's seat.

"Here, let me help."

The newcomer was so unexpected that Ava screamed and jumped away, startling an older-looking man who was slowly going bald. "Oh, God," Ava gasped, taking in the oh-so-normal-looking man. "I'm _so_ sorry about that, I swear I'm not normally like this."

"Easily startled?" the man asked, picking up the bag and holding it out.

"Yeah," Ava said, taking the bag from his hand. "Just a little bit paranoid these days, I guess."

The man tilted his head to one side. "Really? You don't seem the type, shopping alone."

"My fiancé couldn't get off work early," Ava explained, "otherwise he'd be here with me right now. I really _am_ sorry about that."

"It's fine," the man said, "everyone deals with trauma in different ways."

"I… I never said I was traumatized," Ava said, frowning at the man.

"My mistake," he replied after a moment of staring at her in a way that actually didn't make Ava feel uncomfortable. "I'm afraid it's the therapist in me, again. Always popping out when people want normal conversations."

"You're a therapist?" Ava asked.

The man nodded. "Henry Yeates," he said, holding out his hand. Ava contemplated for a moment before reaching out and shaking it.

"Ava Wilson," she said after a moment.

"You're not normally suspicious of everyone, I take it," Henry said.

Ava couldn't help but smile. "No," she said. "I guess that's just what happens when you find yourself on an unexpected adventure with a real potential for death."

Henry raised his eyebrows. "Death? There hasn't been anything that dramatic around here in years."

"Not here," Ava said. "Over in Indiana. Lafayette, actually."

Henry frowned. "You don't mean the capture of that psychopath, Gordon Walker, do you? I read about it on the internet just the other day."

Ava frowned again. She knew that articles had been written about the confusing circumstances that led to the capturing of a wanted criminal in five states, but Illinois wasn't one of them, so what interest would a therapist take in that? "Yeah," she said after a long moment. "My name was kept out of the public reports, but I was there for that."

Henry nodded. "I guess that would explain your current actions, then," he said with a small smile. "Here," he added, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a card, "if you find you need to talk about what happened that day, I can promise a listening ear and helpful advice."

"Thanks," Ava said softly, taking the card and giving Henry a small smile. "Well," she added after a moment, "I need to get going, I'm making dinner for my fiancé's parents tonight and they're super-picky about having home-cooked meals."

"Sounds like you've got your hands full, then," Henry said with a laugh. "You take care of yourself, Ava."

"You, too," Ava said, watching Henry walk away. Maybe she _did_ need to talk to someone about everything that happened, apart from Brady. Should she call Sam or try trusting this therapist?

Shaking her head, Ava let out a heaving sigh and slid into her car. She had a fancy dinner to prepare and not enough time to do it in. She'd try to figure out what to do with herself after that.

* * *

Being a demon stuck taking care of the criminally insane was a suck-ass job, but Azazel had demanded it, so Tyler delivered. Still, he wished for the chance to go have some real fun. After all, what demon didn't want that? The most exciting thing to happen to him since taking this post was when one the patients lost it and tried to kill people using a plastic butter knife.

Tyler had been in the Clifton T. Perkins Hospital Center since the day one Fredric Lehne had arrived. Azazel wanted him to keep an eye on the man, so Tyler did just that. He also learned some very interesting things as the years went by, things Azazel probably didn't want anyone to know. Of course, keeping his mouth shut was probably the only thing keeping him on the surface and not sending him back down to Hell.

Then one day, word came that Azazel wanted Lehne dead via realistic causes, so Tyler did the necessary research to learn how to simulate a heart attack using only the drugs he was able to access. It was a little tricky, but he finally did it.

Only thing was, he was a little too late. Azazel told him to get the job done before any Hunters could come snooping about, and he thought he'd pulled it off until Dean Winchester suddenly ran towards him, yelling about Fredric having a heart attack and needing help _now_, goddammit!

_Well, shit,_ Tyler thought to himself as Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him in Fredric's direction. He knew all about the Winchester brothers, including the knowledge that Sam could sense demons. In short, he was _screwed_.

Sam was on the ground, holding Fredric to his chest, but Tyler could already tell it was too late for the old man to be saved. There were unshed tears in Sam's eyes as he looked up at Tyler and Dean, but those faded the instant he locked eyes with the demon.

"You did this," he said, staring up at Tyler with a hard look on his face.

"What?" Dean said in confusion, but Tyler was already reacting, allowing his eyes to go black as he made Dean go flying across the room. Unfortunately, he was unprepared for Sam to do the exact same thing to him. He slammed against a wall, letting out a shout of pain and anger at being discovered.

"Sonuvabitch!" Dean swore from the other side of the room as Sam stood and headed for Tyler, hand still outstretched. That was when Tyler realized he was still flat against the wall he'd hit, completely unable to move. "Sam?"

"He's a demon, Dean," Sam answered his brother, eyes still locked with Tyler's. "I thought I sensed something when we got here, and it looks like I was right." He halted about seven feet away, hand still raised.

Tyler laughed. "Good for you, Sammy!" he exclaimed with a wide grin. "You gonna send me back to Hell now? Oh wait," he said after a short pause, "you _can't_, not without speaking a long phrase of Latin mumbo-jumbo and a Devil's Trap, which you don't have right now."

"What I've got right now works well enough," Sam said tightly, and Tyler got the sudden impression that Sam was doing more with his mind than just holding Tyler against the wall. "Your kind should know by now I'm not going to do that again."

Tyler grinned as he watched Dean stumble to his feet on the other side of the room. "Not without the right trigger, no," he said. "Want me to tell your daddy 'hi' if I make it downstairs?"

Both boys tensed up at once, Dean's eyes narrowed in anger as he stepped up beside Sam. "I'm sorry," Tyler said sarcastically, "did I strike a nerve with that one?"

"I got this," Dean said, pulling out a sheet of paper. "We might be a little paranoid," he added, looking up at Tyler as the straightened out the paper with an exaggerated flourish, "but keeping an exorcism close by is pretty helpful when you could be attacked by demons at any moment." He grinned and Tyler struggled, desperately wanting to escape his host and take off, but something wasn't letting him. _Sam_ wasn't letting him, and he didn't understand how that was possible.

He wondered why no one else had come into the room after the way Dean had shouted for help mere minutes ago. In fact, why hadn't security been right outside the door to begin with? Why was nothing going right? Why the _fuck_ couldn't he abandon this meatsuit? What was Sam doing to him?

"I bet you're wondering why no one else has shown up," Dean suddenly said, looking up from the paper in his hands. "Did you know Sam's a Jedi in the making? The guards left us alone with Freddie over there because Sam told 'em to. In fact, no one else has shown up because Sam's started learning how to command people with just his mind and no verbal commands. Kid totally got me to let him have the first shower without sayin' a word." He glanced at Sam with a grin. "Cheater."

Sam just shrugged in answer and Dean began reading the exorcism. Tyler cried out in pain as he came closer to being ripped from his host and shoved back into the depths of Hell and his screamed at the two brothers, promising vengeance when he found his way back out of the Pit. The last thing he saw before Hell consumed him once more was the intense anger in Sam's eyes.

Azazel could use that anger. It was only a matter of time before the cage opened, and then he'd have his revenge. They _all_ would.

* * *

TBC...


	3. Chapter Three: Dana Schulps

**From the Shadows**

**Chapter Three: Dana Schulps**

**Felt like posting today, so here's chapter 3! Hope you enjoy, and tell me what you think. Seriously, I want opinions. And stuff. Anyway...

* * *

**

Jo checked into a small motel on the outskirts of Baltimore and settled in to go over her notes on the case. Her mother had tried calling her a few times, but Jo was too angry to answer and hadn't been able to bring herself to listen to the voicemails all day.

"Let's see," she mused to herself, "dead attorney, married with no kids… worked with narcotics, so maybe a dead druggie getting revenge?"

Something about the idea didn't seem quite right, but Jo just didn't have enough to go on to support the instinct. She needed to look into the people Anthony Giles had worked with, along with the cases he had taken on over the years. If someone else turned up dead, then it could make the right connections stand out.

Jo also decided that she needed to talk with Karen Giles, see what information she could get out of the woman on her dead husband about the days before his death. It was more than possible that he could've seen the ghost doing this, if that was what it was, anyway. There was still always the possibility that this was done by the hand of someone living.

She spent another hour putting together a game plan before heading out to find dinner. Three handsy men later, she returned to her room, knuckles bruised from punching the last man who tried to touch her, but feeling a little bit better about being on her own. She could handle herself, she was gonna prove it this time.

It was only when she was about to turn in for the night that Jo remembered the voicemails her mother had left. She still wasn't too keen on the idea of listening to them, but she snagged her cell phone and flipped it open, anyway.

"_Joanna Beth, you are _not_ ready to be out on your own like this! Come back home right now or I swear —" _Jo deleted that one.

"_Jo, please don't go on this Hunt alone. You almost died last week, I couldn't take it if something else happened and I wasn't there to help you. Please, hon, come back home."_

Jo blinked back tears, but also deleted the message. There was one more left and she almost didn't want to listen to it after the first two, but…

"_Jo, honey, Sam and Dean Winchester are in the same area, so if you need _any_ help at all, they're only a phone call away. I love you, please be safe."_

A small chuckle escaped before Jo could stop it. Trust her mother to find trustworthy Hunters in the same area she was in. Putting her cell phone away, Jo finished getting ready for bed and shut her lamp off before burrowing under the covers. She was asleep within minutes.

* * *

It was around dinnertime when Sam and Dean finally arrived back at their motel room, Sam clearly beyond exhausted from holding the demon in place and holding off all the hospital staff with his brain until the demon was back in Hell where it belonged, so Dean had skipped the diner he'd wanted to eat at and went through the first drive-through he could find, getting Sam a chicken salad bowl. As they entered their motel room, Dean allowed himself a moment to think back over their trip to the mental hospital.

The moment Dean had finished the exorcism and the demon was gone from its host, Sam had slumped to the ground, leaving Dean to explain why there were two dead men in the room along with the absence of security, plus Sam's sudden desire to stay acquainted with the floor. Somehow, he'd managed to convince everyone without being a Jedi Knight like his little brother was. Damn, he was awesome!

Dean didn't say anything as Sam slowly changed out of his suit, but he was really curious to know if Lehne had managed to tell Sam anything before he died. Instead, he focused on getting out of his own suit.

"You can ask, you know," Sam said after a moment.

"Huh?"

"Dean, you're practically _smothering_ me with your curiosity," Sam said, turning to look over at Dean with tired eyes and slumped shoulders.

Oh. Right.

"_Did_ he tell you anything?" Dean finally asked, and Sam sighed, running his right hand through his hair.

"It…" He frowned, clearly thinking over the old man's final words. "It was hard to make sense of, but from what I could make of it, that convent is located right over a cage or something, and Azazel needs someone called Lilith for these Seals as well as…" He trailed off again, but Dean got the feeling it wasn't because the kid was unsure as to what Lehne had told him.

"Sam?" he prodded gently.

"Children with demon's blood," Sam finally answered, and when he met Dean's eyes with his own there was a sort of resigned look in them. "Azazel needs special children, but I think that he's got the find the best of us." _And I think he believes it's me_ went unsaid, but Dean heard it loud and clear, anyway.

_Fuck_, he thought, and Sam nodded his agreement.

* * *

"Tyler didn't report back."

Derrick looked up from his research on Devil's Gates to see Buck standing in the doorway of his current study. "The old man was supposed to die today, wasn't he?" he asked once he got his brain to shift from his work and into the present.

Buck nodded, scratching his bald head and looking a little worried. "Think the Winchesters are here?"

Derrick frowned. Last he'd heard, they had been in Lafayette, Indiana with special child Scott Carey and Azazel's assistant Tara. No one had seen them since they'd bailed out of town, leaving behind a pissed-off Tara and a patch of burnt ground where a succubus had once lain. Azazel hadn't been particularly happy with the results of that trial and trap, especially given that Thomas and Gerald Humphrey still lived. "It's possible," he said after a moment. "Although what they hope to find from an old man gone senile…"

"Should I check the area?" Buck asked. "He said that they might try to find Lehne."

"That he did," Derrick murmured thoughtfully. He wasn't going to deny that it was a more than plausible action for the brothers to take. "Not yet," he said in a louder voice. "There is a chance that Tyler is simply behind schedule."

"He was supposed to report in five hours ago. It's almost midnight."

Derrick shrugged. "Go check the news, then. If the Winchesters _are_ here, then there'll be something about it. They tend to leave a trail of bodies behind them."

Buck frowned and nodded before leaving the room. Derrick sighed and ran a hand through his reddish hair. Tyler was already back in Hell, he was more than sure of it. The demon had never reported late before in the six weeks Derrick and Buck had been here, so it was this knowledge that made him certain that the Winchesters were in the area. Only Sam could identify Tyler as a demon and send him back to Hell. Still, it was best to wait until they had proper verification before he dared alert Azazel that anything was amiss. If he was wrong, then his place on the surface could be put in jeopardy. Derrick wasn't about to risk his entire existence without secure knowledge.

* * *

Sam still felt like crap the next morning, so Dean said they'd wait until later that day before going to check out the abandoned convent. In the meantime, he made Sam fill up on food plus more antibiotics, and Sam was too out of it after that to do any more of the research he had planned on. He needed to know what had happened to Brady Miller, the man who was supposed to have been his best friend. Was he still at Stanford, going for that medical degree? Was he still living the life of his best friend, or had he stopped trying the moment Sam had left to go back to Hunting with Dean? In the end, though, he had no choice but to relent to the medication, and really, it was probably better for him to actually _sleep_ than it was to look up Brady when his brain was still a muddled mess. Once he could think more clearly, he'd find out the things he needed to know.

Dean's cell phone going off later in the day woke Sam from a nap, but he wasn't in the mood to listen in, so he rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. He wasn't eager to do anything or go anywhere just yet.

"Oh, hey Jo."

Unfortunately, _that_ got Sam's attention. He opened his eyes and slowly sat up as he listened to his brother talk to Jo.

"Really? And here I thought you were supposed to be all-knowing or something." Dean chuckled slightly at whatever Jo was saying back, his mood light and teasing for the first time in a long while. "Relax, Jo, I was only joking. We'd be happy to head over, see what we can find there." His emotions tinged serious after a moment. "Keep an eye on his wife, though, OK? If that lawyer _did_ see something, then there's a chance she could see it, too, and then you'd have _another _dead person on your hands. What's the address?" He snagged a spare bit of paper from Sam's laptop case along with a pen. "Yeah, I'm ready… Uh-huh," he murmured, quickly writing, "yeah… Got it." He dropped the pen and righted himself. "I'll call you once we've checked it out."

"Jo having trouble with her case?" Sam asked when Dean shut his cell.

"Trouble getting into the lawyer's office," Dean answered, still grinning. "Not enough breaking and entering experience, I'm afraid."

"Oh," Sam said, standing up and stretching. "I guess going to the convent's on hold, then?"

"Yeah, looks like," Dean said, apologetic. "It's not like we're runnin' a time frame at the moment."

"True," Sam said, standing and stretching with a small groan as his back popped. "No life or death situations right now."

"Give it time," Dean said with good humor. "Let's get dinner, wait for the office to close down for the night."

* * *

"A therapist?" Brady asked. "You sure?"

Ava sighed and continued washing the dishes. She'd been too tired last night after the dinner with Brady's parents to bother with them, so now she was cleaning them along with the dishes they'd had dinner on tonight. "Not really," she said after a moment, "but I'm still jumping at odd noises that never bothered me before, and I'm still not sleeping so well. I'm just not sure what I should do."

"You could call that Sam guy," Brady suggested, tugging a hand through his dark hair. "You said he and his brother have been dealing with this stuff their whole lives, so maybe he could help you."

"Yeah," Ava said slowly as she scrubbed at a particularly stubborn spot on her casserole dish. "I don't want to make him take time out of his own schedule just to deal with my issues, though."

"Wasn't he the one who told you to call him?" Brady asked.

"If I had any more _visions_, yeah," Ava said. "But this? This is just me being stupidly paranoid."

"There's nothing stupid about it," Brady said, placing his hand on her arm and stopping her movements. "I know I don't know the guy, but I really think he'd want to know how you're doing, and I hardly think he'd expect you to be dealing with everything just fine on your own."

Ava looked up at Brady. "You're right," she said softly, leaning against him. "Sam _would_ want to know. I'll call him tomorrow after work, I promise."

"Good," Brady said, wrapping his arms around Ava's middle and pulling her even closer.

* * *

Dinner turned out to be a bad idea.

For one thing, it was very crowed and pretty noisy. Normally this didn't bother Sam so much, but the more he struggled with learning to control the empathy, the more he began struggling with going to public places like this. A headache was beginning to throb in his skull before they even got through the front doors, and it only got worse the longer they stayed.

Sam didn't want to say anything; Dean had eyed this particular diner the day before and Sam wanted him too have the chance to enjoy it, but _damn_ his head hurt. There was a pulsating joy that permeated the diner along with spatterings of other emotions, from annoyance to disgust, light flirtations of _like_, deeper resonances of love and so much more.

"You OK, Sammy?" Dean asked, voice cutting through and startling Sam.

"What? Uh, yeah, I'm fine," he lied, looking away and staring around, resisting the urge to close his eyes and press his palms against his forehead with as much force as possible.

"You sure?" Dean said, and now Sam could feel his rising concern more strongly than most anything else in the diner. "Talk to me, man."

"It's too much," Sam finally managed, forcing himself to look at Dean. "I can't block it and there's just so _much_ —"

There was a moment of confusion followed by painful realization and Dean was pulling Sam out of the diner moments later. "Dude, you shoulda said something," he told Sam as he led him back to the Impala.

"You wanted to eat there," Sam said with a small shrug.

"Well, yeah, but not at the risk of killing off your brain by overloading you with too much emotional shit like that," Dean lectured. "Stay here, I'll just get something to go and we can eat in the car."

"Dean —"

"It's _fine_, Sam," Dean cut Sam off resolutely. "You know you matter more than some old diner."

Sam smiled slightly as he looked up at Dean. "Thanks."

"No problem," Dean said. "Now, get in, I'll be back in a few. Salad? Sandwich?"

"Sandwich is fine," Sam said, waving Dean off and opening the passenger door. He sat down heavily and rubbed at his forehead. In all honesty, food just wasn't appealing at the moment, but he had to eat something or else Dean would freak even more. He dropped his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, breathing evenly and trying to focus on blocking everything out.

Of course, it never worked, but the headache had lessened somewhat by the time Dean returned with food. They ate in the car, saying very little. "I'm sorry," Sam sighed after some length of time had passed.

"Why?" Dean asked around his burger.

"For —" He gestured at the diner his one hand, clutching his turkey sandwich in the other. "It's like the longer I go without learning how to block things out, the more I can sense and it's… " He trailed off and sighed. "It's overwhelming."

"It's not your fault," Dean said after swallowing, and Sam could feel a sort of frustration that was aimed at the situation rather than at Sam himself. "You keep trying, and I'll just pick up food for us. We can eat in the car or motel, whatever you need until we figure this out."

"I hate this," Sam admitted.

"I'd be surprised to hear otherwise," Dean replied. "Now, eat, it's good for you."

Sam snorted softly, but did as he was told.

* * *

"That's strange," Dean said sometime later, picking up a piece of paper from Mr. Giles' printer and frowning.

"What?" Sam asked from over by the dried puddle of blood, marking where Giles had died, throat slit so deep part of his spinal cord could be seen. Yuck.

"It says 'Dana Shulps' on it," Dean said, showing the paper to Sam. "Over and over."

"So, someone's name, I'm guessing," Sam said, wandering over to Mr. Giles' desk. He paused, staring at the glass before leaning closer and breathing on it. 'Dana Shulps' was revealed once again. "That's definitely weird," he said.

"Maybe Giles knew her," Dean suggested as Sam sat down at the desk.

"She could be the girl Jo said the wife described," Sam said. "How'd she describe her again?"

"Uh, pale with red eyes," Dean said, moving over to the filing cabinets and starting to rifle through them. Twenty minutes later, he hadn't found a thing.

"There's not a single mention of a Dana Shulps anywhere," he told Sam, pushing the cabinet drawer closed. "There's not a D. Shulps or any other kind of friggn' Shulps." He glanced over at Sam, who was using Giles' computer. "Find anything?"

Sam shook his head. "No Dana Shulps has lived or died in Baltimore in the last fifty years, at least." He continued typing. "I think I'm close to cracking Giles' password. Maybe there's something in his personal files, you know?"

Dean watched Sam type away for a minute. "So, by 'close' you mean…?"

Sam glanced up at Dean. "Thirty minutes, maybe?"

Dean checked his watch and sighed. "I hope Jo's having more fun than we are," he muttered.

"I doubt it," Sam said. "I mean, unless the wife's got some connection to whatever killed her husband that we don't know about…"

Dean couldn't help but scowl. "Awesome." He was already bored and starting to wonder why Sam had to go and agree to keep an eye out for Jo. Sure, the girl didn't have the same amount of experience that they did, but she should've known enough to do this on her own.

"You could go keep Jo company," Sam said softly. "I've seen the way she looks at you, sometimes, and well…"

Dean whipped his head around to stare at Sam. "I'm not leaving you in the middle of the city by yourself," he said, incredulous at the idea. "Besides, Jo just asked for this one thing of us, nothing else."

"I can take care of myself," Sam said, and Dean was surprised by how frustrated Sam suddenly seemed. "Are you telling me that you honestly don't feel anything for Jo? 'Cause your emotions…" He trailed off and looked away.

Dean couldn't help but scowl. "She's pretty, I'll grant her that," he finally said, "but I don't… I can't, OK? Never could."

"Wrong place, wrong time?"

The quiet observation hit the nail dead on. After all, the first time Dean had met Jo was when he and John had been searching desperately for Sam, and then after John died… "You're _way_ too observant, little brother," Dean groused, and Sam's lips quirked into a tiny smile as he continued to work. He thought for a moment about the other thing Sam had said. He knew his brother was capable of taking care of himself, but everything was still fresh enough that Dean didn't like the idea of leaving Sam behind. "I guess I could go check on her," he finally said, "but you call me the moment you're finished here, got it?"

The tiny smile got a little bit bigger and Dean knew he'd done the right thing by giving Sam the space to prove himself. "Of course," Sam said. "Now go, you're distracting me."

Dean snorted, reminded Sam to call him once he was done and left the office. He had just reached the Impala when his phone went off. He pulled it out. "Hello?"

"Dean?" It was Jo. "You need to get over here now, I think something's happening."

"I'm on my way," Dean said, pulling out his keys and snapping his phone shut. He quickly drove off, never noticing the dark shadow of a man, watching him before heading inside the building.

* * *

Jo knocked on the front door of the Giles' home. "Mrs. Giles?" she called out. "Mrs. Giles, are you there?"

There was no answer. Jo could have sworn she'd seen the beam of a flashlight from the upper level of the house, but the absence of activity for the last three minutes was bothering her a great deal. She tried knocking again just as the sound of the Impala reached her ears, and she turned to see Dean driving up to the house.

"What's happened?" Dean asked the moment he was out of the car, shoving his keys in his jacket pocket as she bounded up the front steps of the house.

"Where's Sam?" Jo asked in turn.

"Still at the office," Dean said. "Now, what's going on?"

"Karen was downstairs, watching TV," Jo began, trying to mentally keep her facts straight. "I heard a scream, but I couldn't tell if it was the show she was watching or if it was her, I couldn't see inside the house well enough to be sure. About a minute later, all the lights and TV turned off at once, that's when I called you. I saw a flashlight upstairs, but nothing for the past three minutes."

Dean frowned and reached out to the door handle. It was locked, so he pulled out his lock-pick set and had the door open a minute later. Jo stayed just behind Dean as he entered the house and tried a light switch, but there was no power. They quietly made their way up the stairs and into the bedroom, where they found Karen Giles was on the floor. She was dead and her throat was slit, just like her husband.

"Oh, God," Jo whispered as Dean ventured further into the room. She'd seen dead people before, but the brutality of it was a little shocking. It was just as deep a cut as Anthony's cut had been.

"What the hell?" Dean held up a piece of paper. "Dana Shulps," he said, sounding confused and a little annoyed. "Again."

"Again?" Jo echoed, looking at the page, which was covered with the name, over and over and over again.

"There was a paper just like this in the office," Dean explained before looking down at Karen. "That's strange." He knelt down and gently picked up her wrist.

"Is that a bruise?" asked Jo. Dean nodded, and Jo frowned, stepping closer until she was standing right next to Dean. "I didn't see anything like that on her this morning." They looked at each other. "This is more than just a vengeful spirit, isn't it?"

Just then, two cops burst into the room. "Freeze!" the woman shouted. "Both of you, on your knees and hands where I can see them. Now!"

_Shit,_ Jo thought as she complied. This was not good at all.

* * *

TBC...


	4. Chapter Four: Captured?

**From the Shadows**

**Chapter Four: Captured?**

**Here be chapter four. I was thinking of posting this one sooner, but I'm really struggling the flow of this story, for some reason. Oh, well. Enjoy and tell me if you like!

* * *

**

Buck knew it the moment he saw the bodies. The Winchester brothers were here, they _had_ to be. The question was, where?

It wasn't so hard to search for the right car, seeing as how every demon out there knew the boys drove a black 1967 Chevrolet Impala. Finding it outside an office building seemed a little odd, but Buck knew the car was theirs. When Dean exited the building on his own less than a minute later, he knew he had to act fast.

It wasn't so hard abandoning his current skin in the alleyway. He could always come back for it later, if needed. Catching a security guard and hiding inside the body was a far trickier move, given that the boy could sense demons, but he had to pull this off.

About forty minutes later, he sensed movement from an office that was also a crime scene. He gave his host just the right push and…

* * *

Scott was paranoid. There was really no getting around it. He was currently sitting on the couch in Thomas Humphrey's apartment, gloved hands tightly clasped in his lap. Gerald Humphrey was sitting across from him on a LazyBoy chair, lost in thought.

"Sam sure has a lot of confidence in me," Thomas said, handing his uncle and Scott a cup of coffee before sitting down next to Scott. "Now, you're _sure_ that you're being followed?"

Scott nodded. "It's like whoever's out there is just waiting for a chance to get me alone so they can finish me the way Gordon wanted to," he said. "I can… _feel_ them watching me, sometimes."

"Did Gordon have any associates?" Thomas asked Gerald. "Anyone he'd call if he thought he couldn't finish a job?"

Gerald sighed. "Gordon preferred Hunting alone as much as possible, but he was friendly with other Hunters," he said. "Mind, these other Hunters tend to be the ones who are more obsessed with evil versus good and believe in Jesus and angels and what have you." He leaned back in the chair. "For example, there's Kubrick the religious nut, thinks he's on a God-given mission to rid the world of evil."

"Is he the type of man who would kill a human if Gordon told him the person in question was 'wrong' somehow?" Scott asked.

Gerald was silent for a long moment before nodding. "If he's here, then I can tell you right now that he won't leave without seeing the life leave your eyes first."

"That's great," Scott mumbled sarcastically, dropping his head against the back of the couch. "Any way to find out if it's him or someone else?"

"If it's Kubrick," Gerald began, "then there'll be an RV around here, most likely parked outside a cheap motel. I can take a look around town in the morning. In the meantime, you can't go anywhere alone, not until we know for sure that you're safe."

"Thank you," Scott said. "You have no idea how much I've been worrying my dad. Again."

Thomas smiled. "We'll find them, I promise," he said. "If Sam thinks there's a problem, then there's _definitely_ something goin' on. Their family's got good instincts for this kinda thing."

Gerald nodded, eyes suddenly going distant.

It was decided that Scott wasn't to travel anywhere alone, sleep alone, or just ever _be alone_ until Gerald could scout around the city, see who was here that shouldn't be. Thomas had been given a week of work off to finish sorting things out with Fulmer's over the whole "breaking and entering to save your son's life" thing, so he and Scott were pretty going to be attached at the hip for the next few days. Hopefully they could stop whoever was stalking Scott before anything really bad could happen. Scott didn't dare think of the alternative.

* * *

Sam sighed as he carefully exited Giles' office. He'd managed to break the password, but he still couldn't find anything that could tell him who Dana Shulps was. He ran a hand through his hair and started for the stairs, fully intent on calling Dean the moment he was outside the building.

"Hey!"

Sam whirled around to see a security guard. How had he missed the man? He didn't miss people when he could feel their emotions from several yards away. Backing up, Sam turned to run when an almost familiar sensation ran through him. He turned back to the guard in confusion. There was something about him, something that wasn't right, but Sam couldn't place it…

The guard suddenly choked and went rigid, and then his eyes were black and Sam was stumbling back toward the stairs, but it was too late.

"Hey, Sammy," the demon said, suddenly right in Sam's face. "Miss me?" He grabbed Sam's arm, but Sam managed to throw him off and then he was running —

The guard's body slammed into his, knocking him to the ground and forcing the air from his lungs. Sam gasped and struggled, but the demon had his arms pinned. He tried to focus, tried to use his powers, but then he felt the guard's baton whack across the back of his head, and everything went dark.

* * *

Detective Pete Sheridan was clearly the bad cop in this situation, Dean decided early the next morning as he listened to the smug man rattle off his various misdemeanors, from credit card fraud to supposed murder and assault. He wondered how Jo was doing, as well as Sam. The cops wouldn't find him, would they?

Dean sure hoped not. Sam was pretty much the only person who could get him out of this crap situation, now.

Jo was being held in some kind of waiting room down the hall, and Sheridan was saying she could be considered a possible "accomplice" or something, but Dean wasn't really listening. There was no way he was getting out of this place, handcuffed with no paperclips in sight, but if he could just get some message to Jo… He _did _manage to slip a paperclip into her shoe before being handcuffed at the Giles' house, but what if she didn't notice that he'd done it? What if the cops found it before she could?

_Shit_, Dean thought, gazing at nothing as Sheridan continued to prattle on, probably about St. Louis and how he was supposed to be dead right now. This entire situation was fucked up, especially given that he wouldn't even _be_ in it if Jo hadn't called him for help. Once again, he wondered why Sam had gone and promised Ellen to keep an eye out on her only daughter. Oh, right. Winchester honor. _Thanks for teaching us that, Dad._

Knowing the police, they should have already run Dean's prints through IAFIS, and he knew there had to be dozens of possible hits in the system. He wondered how much weight those would hold, given what he was already wanted for, like murder, although grave desecration was definitely his favorite one of the bunch. Ah, good times…

Just then, Sheridan said Sam's name, and Dean instantly tuned back into the one-sided conversation. "What'd you say?"

Sheridan was an average-looking guy, clearly in his thirties or so, but his eyes were sharp as he smiled coldly at Dean. "We know your brother's around town, somewhere," he said. "Sam's college friend, one Rebecca Warren, told the officials in St. Louis that the two of you were uh… 'road-tripping together'," he quoted, glancing briefly at the file in his hands. "Seeing as how you're _not_ dead, I think it's a safe bet that Sam's still traveling with you."

"I didn't think you were a betting man," Dean said, plastering on the smirk he reserved for five-oh douche bags and clasping his cuffed hands on the tabletop. "Hardly seem the type, Detective."

Sheridan gave a smirk of his own. "Where's your brother, Dean?" he asked after a moment.

Dean shrugged nonchalantly. "Wish to God I knew," he said in his devil-may-care voice.

What was worse was that this might actually be true. Who knew where Sam would go if he found he couldn't contact Dean?

"He hasn't called your cell phone so far," Sheridan said after another moment had passed. "Any ideas why?"

Sam was smart, _gifted_, even, but there was no way he could have predicted something like this. If he hadn't called, it was either because he was still in that office, which was highly unlikely given that the cops here would have been thorough enough to go and check there after picking up Dean and Jo, or…

A small tendril of fear wormed its way into Dean's heart. Sam was a fuckin' _magnet_ for trouble and he'd left him all alone in that stupid office to go and get himself arrested for something he didn't do. "Maybe he's out bangin' some hot chick," Dean suggested blithely, unable to think of anything else to say. "Kid hasn't gotten enough action since his girlfriend died last year."

Sheridan narrowed his eyes. "Right," he drawled, clearly not convinced by the idea, not that Dean couldn't blame him for it; no way would _he_ believe the idea without seeing it firsthand. Not after everything they'd been through.

That left the question: where the fuck was Sam?

* * *

The first thing that crossed Jo's mind when Detective Diana Ballard entered the room was how disappointed her mother would be when she found out about this. She really just couldn't do anything right, could she?

"Joanna Beth Harvelle," Ballard said, staring at a file in her hands. Jo hated it whenever someone went and said her full name, especially when the tone it was said in almost matched her mother's. "You're 21 years old, your mother is Ellen, and your father is, well, was William, now deceased." She looked up at Jo from beneath golden-tinged bangs. "You attended college for three semesters before dropping out and going back to work in your mother's saloon in Nebraska." She leaned forward. "Joanna, _what_ are you doing all the way out here?" she asked. "And why with a homicidal maniac like Dean?"

"He's very attractive," Jo told Ballard, which was true. "Oh, and he's _not_ a killer." Also true, though she doubted the detective would believe her.

Ballard raised her eyebrows and lowered the file in her hand. "So what were you two doing in Karen Giles' house last night if he wasn't killing Karen and you weren't there to help him do it?"

Jo smiled. "Tony Giles was a friend of Sam and Dean's dad, back in the army or somethin'. Dean and I are dating, and when he and Sam heard Tony was dead, they wanted to go and offer their condolences."

"Do you know where John Winchester is?" Ballard asked abruptly.

Jo looked away. "No." She was pretty sure Sam and Dean didn't want the cops knowing that John was dead.

There was silence. Jo sighed and met Ballard's eyes after a long moment of silence. "We went to comfort Karen," she said, figuring it was best to continue with her story, "and later on she called and asked if Dean could go to Tony's office, pick up some things that meant a lot to her, gave him the key and everything."

"We have reports stating that two _men_ went to that office," Ballard pointed out.

Jo rolled her eyes. "I thought it would be common knowledge to your kind that Sam and Dean travel everywhere together since Sam's girlfriend died last year," she said, making sure to sound vaguely insulted. "Sam only went over to the office with Dean because he had something else to do in the area while I waited at our motel for Dean to get back."

"What was Sam going to do?" Ballard asked.

"Don't know," Jo said. "I mean, Sam talks to his brother, but personal business with him is just that, _personal_. Sam's quiet these days, and I don't see him coming to me to talk anytime soon."

Ballard narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.

"Anyway," Jo said after another moment (and were those getting awkward or what?), "I was feeling worried about Karen, so I called Dean, asked if he could meet me at Karen's house, make sure she really _was_ doin' OK, but when we got there…" She trailed off, secretly praying her act would convince Ballard.

"How'd you two get into the house?"

"Door was unlocked," Jo said quietly. "Whoever killed her was gone by the time we got there, and then we found her on the floor…" She allowed a tear to slip free and ducked her head, swallowing hard. "I've never seen a dead person before," she told Ballard, letting her voice choke up just a little.

"Why didn't either of you call 9-1-1?" Ballard pressed, leaning forward. "Why did Dean approach Karen's body, touch her?"

"There were bruises… Bruises on her wrists," Jo said, lifting her own hands to try and indicate, "and they weren't there when we saw her yesterday morning. Besides, it seems she already called for help before dying, didn't she?"

Ballard stared at Jo for a long moment before rising and leaving the room without another word. Jo sighed, dropping the act and leaning back in her chair, tugging futilely at her handcuffs. Thankfully, she was only in one of the waiting rooms, and that meant no cameras or observation rooms hidden by mirrored glass. She needed to find a way to escape so she could find Sam. He was the only one who could get Dean out of her mess. That's when she remembered Dean slipping a paperclip into the side of her shoe before raising his hands for the cops to cuff him at the Giles' house.

It wasn't perfect, but it'd have to do. The question was, when should she break out?

* * *

The first thing Sam was aware of was the pounding of his head where the security baton had hit him. He groaned and raised a hand, only to discover he was handcuffed. He cracked his eyes open and immediately wished he hadn't when everything started spinning. It seemed he had a concussion, or maybe something even worse than that. His senses felt off, but he could swear there was —

"It's about time," said an all-too-familiar voice from somewhere above Sam. "I mean, I've got you pretty dosed up so you won't be able to focus and use your powers, but I was starting to wonder if that meant you'd be unconscious the entire time."

Sam's mouth felt like it was coated in cotton, but he coughed and spoke anyway. "I didn't think knocking me out was ever a part of any orders Azazel might give you, Buck." He squinted up at the beefy, bald man above him. "Or are you just upset about that possessed nurse?"

"I _knew_ it was you," Buck said smugly, though Sam couldn't quite make out the expression on his face. "The question now is, did you learn anything you weren't supposed to from that old man?"

"Like I'd tell you," Sam managed, rolling onto his side and tugging futilely at the cuffs chaining him to the floor.

"We know about the super-strength, Sam," said Buck. "They're reinforced, based on our observations of Jake Talley's super-strength." He knelt down next to Sam. "I think it's a safe thing to say that you're just as strong as he is."

So this Jake Talley was another special child? Good to know.

"Anyway," Buck said, standing again, "I think between the drugs and the torture I'm planning, I should be able to learn what you know. After that, I think I'll hire a witch, have her erase your memory or something. Should be great." He might have grinned before heading for the door in the small room. "I'll be back in a few with more drugs."

"Thanks," Sam called sarcastically, wincing at how dry his throat was. "How about you bring some water while you're at it?"

Buck may have shot Sam another grin, and then he slammed the door behind him, the sound reverberating in Sam's skull.

Letting out a sigh, Sam rolled onto his back again and stared at the white plaster ceiling. Or tried to, anyway. Nothing would focus the way he wanted, and Sam knew it was all down to whatever Buck had given him. Terrific.

Where was Dean? Was Jo all right? What about her case? If only his head would just quit pounding, then maybe he could figure out what to do next.

After a few minutes, the door opened again and Buck came back in, carrying a water bottle and a syringe. "Drink your water and then I want you to hold still for your shot," Buck told Sam, actually handing him the bottle and settling himself next to him. "If you don't, then I'll go track down your brother and kill him, got it?"

Great, more death threats. Still, Sam remembered what Buck had been like back in L.A., so he slowly drank down the water and laid docilely on the floor while Buck injected him. "Next time you wake up, we'll get started," Buck said, standing and leaving the room.

Sam watched him go and allowed his head to drop back onto the concrete floor, which made the pain in his head spike again. What did it matter, though? Until he could figure out how to focus…

The world was spinning again, and Sam had no choice but to succumb to darkness once more.

* * *

"Their stories match," Diana told Pete when she entered the observation room looking in on Dean Winchester. "Neither one knows where Sam is; Anthony Giles was, apparently, an 'army friend' of John Winchester's; and Dean's dating Joanna. All the same details."

"They've gotta be lying," Pete said, staring hard at Dean with a small scowl. "There's absolutely nothing that connects Joanna to this apart from her presence at the scene. She left no fingerprints that we can find, she's got no rap sheet…" He ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe if we find Sam, convince him to flip or something…"

"Joanna gave me the impression the brother's are too close to betray each other," Diana said. "That even matched Rebecca Warren's statement in the report from St. Louis." She shook her head. "Something… there's something that's just off about all this."

"Hey," Pete said, placing his hands on Diana's shoulders and turning her so she faced him, "Dean's a murderer and his life is over, we know that. All we've gotta do is convince Joanna of that fact, then find Sam and do the same with him. Joanna didn't have any prints anywhere and no gloves, so we should be able to get her to admit to accessory to murder, get her off on a lighter charge. She doesn't have any criminal records, and we can use that to convince her. Same thing with Sam."

Diana sighed. "I just don't know…"

"It'll work," Pete said firmly, squeezing her shoulders. "Trust me."

They shared a quick kiss and Diana left the room for her desk. She needed to get started on her report, make some calls and put out and APB on Sam. No one could hide form the law forever, not even the Winchesters.

If only she knew…

* * *

**TBC**


	5. Chapter Five: The Great Escape

**From the Shadows**

**Chapter Five: The Great Escape  
**

**The internet connection at my new home sucks ass more often than not, so updates will pretty much happen whenever a chapter is finished and the internet cooperates with me long enough to get each new chapter posted. In the meantime, here be chapter five. Lemme know if you like or not!**

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* * *

**

Scott startled when the doorbell rang.

"Gettin' a little jumpy there?" Thomas teased as he passed Scott in the kitchen.

"Shut up," Scott grumbled, reaching for his cup of coffee.

Scott had been staying at Thomas' apartment while Gerald went out in search of a stalker. They hadn't heard anything yet, but maybe…

"It's Kubrick," came Gerald's voice the moment Thomas opened the front door. "Found his trailer, and he's not alone, either. Got one of his friends with him, Finn Carlton." He entered the kitchen, Thomas just behind him, and stared hard at Scott. "Kubrick's not goin' anywhere so long as you're still alive," he said.

"Fantastic," Scott dead-panned, taking a long sip of his coffee and wondering when he'd started drinking it black. Oh, right, when his ability developed and he became a hermit. Suddenly wanting sugar, he reached for the appropriate container and added in three cubes, stirring vigorously before taking another sip.

"So what do we do?" asked Thomas, heading to a cupboard to snag another mug, which he filled with coffee and handed to his uncle.

"We take them out," Gerald said, and Scott choked on his drink. "Kubrick _and_ Carlton."

"Excuse me?" he managed to say after a liberal amount of coughing.

"Like I said," Gerald told Scott, hazel eyes hard as he stared at him. "He's not goin' anywhere until you're dead, kid, and Carlton'll follow his lead."

"But _killing_, are you serious?"

Gerald nodded. "Deadly."

"Isn't there anything else —?"

"You asked for my help, kid," Gerald cut Scott off before sighing and rubbing his chin. "Look, these are dark times, Scott, and like it or not, Kubrick ain't the only Hunter out there who thinks psychics and the like are _wrong_. Chances are he's already contacted those other Hunters, so killing him and his buddy is the only way to make any others back off. 'Course, you and your dad'll have to move after this is done, and I'll help lay a false paper trail so no other Hunters can find ya without makin' a real effort out of it, but _this_ is how its gotta be. There's no other way I can think of doin' this that won't end with you dead."

It was like being caught between a rock and a hard place. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Scott wondered how many other analogies he could think up. "Fine," he finally said, feeling resigned to the situation. "Just — you know this isn't the kind of thing Sam or Dean Winchester would do."

Gerald nodded solemnly. "Their daddy would've done it in a heartbeat if it meant keeping his boys alive," was all he said in response. Scott didn't know whether to be encouraged by the thought or scared shitless, so he just nodded and continued drinking his coffee in silence.

* * *

Working as a secretary was normally a pretty engaging job for Ava. Today, however, it was just annoying. She hated every phone call, detested all the colorful sticky notes framing her computer screen, groused at the sound of the filing cabinet every time anyone used it…

Yeah, she wasn't in a good mood.

Ava figured this mostly had to do with the anticipation of her promise to call Sam after work. Who wanted normal life when Sam could be firing silver bullets at werewolves or decapitating vampires? For all her paranoia, Ava couldn't help but want a more exciting life than the one she led from day to day, even though the thought terrified her at the same time. Brady would never understand it, of that she was more than certain. Would Sam?

"What's wrong?" It was Karena, Ava's best friend and co-worker at the office. She had been possessed by a demon for a little over a month until Sam and Dean had come along and freed her. Thankfully, the possession hadn't done any physical damage, and Karena was able to keep coming to work and even seemed normal. Well, most of the time, anyway.

In a way, they were both damaged, weren't they?

"I just want today to be over," Ava sighed as she unpacked her lunch, "that's all."

Karena smiled sadly and sat down next to Ava. "Not dealing as well as you thought you were?"

"Something like that," Ava said softly. "How are _you_ doing?"

"Today's been good to me so far," Karena said, pulling her blonde hair into a ponytail before unpacking her own lunch. "I still wish there was a therapist out there who I could talk to without sounding like a nutcase, you know?"

"I hear ya," Ava said, smiling a little as she opened her can of soda. "Got any plans for the weekend?"

"Nope," Karena said. "Just hiding in my place with the new security system."

That meant salt lines on the windows and Devil's Traps under the carpets, Ava remembered, watching as Karena gently tugged on the necklace she now wore. It had a protective charm on it, one that would keep her from ever being possessed again so long as she never took it off. It was another gift from the Winchesters, and one Karena seemed eternally grateful for.

"We should watch a movie at your place," Ava said on a whim. "Brady's already promised George he'd go golfing with him this weekend, and I can't stand an empty house these days."

"I'd like that," Karena said softly.

"Good," Ava said, suddenly feeling happier, "then it's settled. Lemme guess, chick flicks?"

"You know it," Karena said, her entire demeanor just a little brighter than before. Ava couldn't help but feel proud of herself for helping her friend, and she managed to keep their conversation light and upbeat through the rest of their lunch break.

* * *

"You _what_?"

Buck flinched slightly, but it seemed he was determined to hold his ground. "Azazel didn't want any Hunters talkin' to Lehne before he croaked," he said as though it fully justified his actions. "We need to make sure the kid didn't learn anything!"

Derrick held back a groan and turned away, running both hands through his hair. Of all the demons to be partnered with… "I thought Azazel made it _clear_ that none of us are to touch the Winchesters without his express permission." He whirled around and gestured to the small room Sam was in, currently unconscious. "Call me crazy, Buck, but I don't think that _this_ is something he would approve of! At all!"

Buck just glared at him. "I'm doing this," he said as though it settled everything.

"No," Derrick retorted, growing angry. "You're not. The last thing we need is Dean Winchester coming down on us. No, strike that." He stepped closer to his bald companion. "That _last_ thing we need is _Azazel_ coming down on our asses, Buck. Let him go."

"But —"

"NOW!"

Buck jumped a little at the shout. Derrick wasn't surprised, he wasn't one to shout, normally, but this… This went _beyond_ stupidity. "I'm going to let Azazel know that Fredric is dead," he told Buck, "but that the Winchester's got to him before he died, _and_ that the brothers also took out Tyler before he could report back to us. Now let Sam go."

Derrick glared at Buck until the other demon scowled and nodded. "Fine," the bald man bit out and Derrick stalked away.

He _really_ needed a different partner.

* * *

"Dana Shulps," Dean muttered, frowning at the tabletop. "It's a name, right? What if it's not a name?"

He sat in the interrogation room alone, and since he didn't have a way to communicate with Jo or find Sam, this was the next best thing he could do. Of course, it was hard to try and think of different words that "Dana Shulps" could also spell without anything to write on. Thankfully, however, the door to the room opened and a thin, balding man in a suit entered, carrying a briefcase.

"Mr. Winchester?"

"Yeah?" Dean said.

"I'm Jeff Krause," the man said, snagging a chair. "I'm with the public defender's office." He sat down, setting the briefcase on the table. "I'm your lawyer."

"Oh," Dean said, blinking. "Thank God, I'm saved. Hey," he added after a moment, "can I steal a pen from you? Some paper?"

"Sure," Mr. Krause said, handing over a pen and a small notepad. "Well, the police haven't found a weapon yet, so that's good. But, they've got your prints and, literally, blood on your hands. And your police record —" He broke off as he finally seemed to realize that Dean wasn't paying attention. "Mr. Winchester? What are you doing?"

Dean was on his fifth word combination, using the letters from "Dana Shulps" to help him. "I think it's an anagram," he muttered before working on combo number six.

"A what?"

"An anagram," Dean said, unable to hide the sarcasm in his voice. "Same letters, different words."

"Oh."

Whatever, Dean didn't have time for this. "Could you do me a favor?" he asked, sliding the notepad over to Krause. "See if you recognize any of these words, you know, local names, places, anything like that."

Mr. Krause stared at Dean. "Do you understand how serious these charges are?" he asked in a disbelieving tone of voice.

Dean couldn't help but chuckle. "I'm handcuffed to a table," he said, demonstrating with one hand. "Yeah, I get it. Humor me." He tapped the notepad with the pen. "Take a quick look."

Mr. Krause sighed, but looked at the word combinations Dean had written. After a moment, he took the pen from Dean and tapped "Supash Land" before crossing out the "Sup" and leaving the rest untouched. "Well," he said, "S-U-P, I don't know about that, but Ashland is a street name. It's not far from here."

"A street?" Mr. Krause nodded. Yahtzee!

"Let's start with where you were the night that Anthony Giles died."

Dean ignored him. "Can you get in to see Jo, the girl that was with me?"

"Mr. Winchester, you could be facing the death penalty here."

"Yeah," Dean snarked, "thanks for the law review, Matlock." He quickly wrote a note to Jo, praying that she'd understand it. "But if you wanna help me, then I need you to take this to Jo right away," he said, handing the lawyer the note.

Mr. Krause sighed, but took the note and stood. "Fine, but as soon as I get back, we're going over your case," he said.

"Sure thing," Dean told him with a disarming smile. "Now go, seriously."

Mr. Krause frowned at Dean, shook his head and left.

* * *

Jo stared at the note from Dean.

_Hilts-_

_Dana Shulps: anagram for a street. Ashland._

_-McQueen_

"I hope that was meaningful," Mr. Krause said, though his tone suggested he thought it was anything _but_. The lawyer set his briefcase on the table, never noticing Jo's lack of handcuffs. "But I'd like to discuss _your_ case now, Joanna."

Jo smiled up at the man with fake cheer and gestured to the chair opposite her even though she had a strong desire to punch him for calling her by her full name. "Sure thing, Matlock," she said.

"You really _are_ dating him, aren't you?" Mr. Krause sighed as he sat down and Jo had to hide a grin. What were the chances that Dean had said something similar to the man before her?

Of course, the poor man didn't realize it, but the note from Dean _was_ meaningful. Jo had seen "The Great Escape" many times growing up, so she recognized the names and felt thankful that she was able to understand _some_ part of how the Winchester brothers worked. The question was, what kind of distraction was Dean going to give her to use?

Just then, the door opened and Detective Ballard stuck her head in. Jo quickly dropped her hands low enough to make it appear that the cuffs were still attached. "We need you," the older woman told Mr. Krause. "With Winchester."

Mr. Krause gave another sigh and stood up, following Ballard from the room while Jo sat docilely in her seat. The moment the door shut, however, she sprang into action. She was getting out of this place and she was gonna find Sam and then they were gonna save Dean from deathrow and whatever else the cops might try to throw at him Jo owed him that much after getting him into this mess.

* * *

Diana was not having the best day. Joanna wasn't willing to turn on Dean, her computer screen had freaked out on her — and what the hell was with that whole "Dana Shulps" thing over and over and over again before it vanished, leaving her screen perfectly normal? And now Winchester was saying that he actually _wanted_ to confess?

Jeff Krause was urging Dean to not do this while Pete was setting up the camera and Diana just didn't know what to make of it, any of it.

"Start by stating your name for the record," Pete told Dean before stepping back.

Dean cleared his throat and gave a tiny smirk as he stared at the camera. "My name is Dean Winchester. I'm an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women."

He wasn't full of himself _at all_, Diana thought sarcastically.

"And I did _not_ kill anyone," Dean continued, voice suddenly serious. "But I know who did. Or, rather, _what_ did. Of course, it can't be for sure because our investigation was interrupted, but our working theory is that we're looking for some kind of vengeful spirit."

Diana stared at Dean. "Excuse me?" she said.

"You know," Dean said in a way that suggested she had heard him right the first time and was being deliberately stupid, "Casper the bloodthirsty ghost? Tony Giles saw it. I'll bet you cash money Karen did, too."

Diana couldn't believe the words coming out of the man's mouth, let alone the seriousness in which he spoke them. "But the interesting thing is the word it leaves behind," Dean was saying. "For some reason, it's trying to tell us something. But communicating across the veil ain't easy. Sometimes the spirits –- they get things jumbled. You remember 'redrum'?" The man was just _full_ of references to pop culture. "Same concept. It can be word fragments, and other times…" here Dean pulled out a piece of paper with several word combinations on it, "it's anagrams. See, at first, Jo, Sam and I, we all thought this was a name — Dana Shulps."

Diana stared at Dean, stunned. He'd come across the name, too? "But now, we think it's a street — Ashland. Whatever's going on, I bet it started there." Dean smiled like he was a genius, except he'd seen the name. Had Tony and Karen Giles seen it, too? What the hell was going on?

Pete was seething beside Diana. "You arrogant bastard," he snarled. "Tony and Karen were good people and you're making jokes."

Dean's smile dropped and he turned hard eyes to Pete. "I'm not joking, Ponch," he said, sounding almost dangerous.

"You murdered them in cold blood," Pete all but shouted, "just like that girl in St. Louis."

Dean blinked and turned back to the camera. "Oh, yeah," he said to it, "that wasn't me, either. That was a shapeshifter creature that only _looked_ like me."

Pete snapped. Diana gasped as he flew forward, grabbing Dean by his jacket and slamming him against the wall.

"Pete," she yelled, "that is _enough_!"

"You asked for the truth," Dean said softly as Pete finally let him go.

"Lock his ass up," Pete snapped before striding from the room. Diana glanced at Dean in time to see him give her an incredibly cocky-looking smile before she hurried out after Pete.

"Pete, wait up!" she called, and thankfully he slowed down enough for her to catch up. "That was unprofessional of you," she told him in an undertone as they walked down the hallway.

"Well, so is this," Pete said, stopping long enough to lean down and kiss Diana on the lips. Thankfully, no one saw them, which meant their relationship was still a secret, but Diana blushed, anyway.

"Dean Winchester is arrogant, yes," Diana told Pete as he started walking again, this time in the direction of Joanna's room, "but you _cannot_ let him get to you."

Pete didn't say anything as they reached the door to Joanna's "interrogation" room, and when he pulled the door open —

Joanna wasn't in there. The handcuffs were laying innocently on the tabletop next to a bent paperclip and a note. Diana picked it up. "How about that," she said as Pete looked out the window.

"What?" he asked, coming over to look at the note. "Hilts? McQueen?"

"Hilts is Steve McQueen's character in 'The Great Escape'," Diana told him. "My, they _must_ be dating."

Pete growled angrily and stalked from the room, but Diana couldn't but feel impressed with the couple. Would Sam have given her this much trouble?

Yes, she decided, setting the note back down on the tabletop. More than likely.

* * *

_Ring. Ring. Ring._

Sam scrunched up his face, the sound making his head pound with pain, but it wasn't stopping just yet, so he fumbled with his jacket until the offending noise was revealed to be his cell phone.

_Wait, what?_

Sam cracked his eyes open and was startled to find himself inside a supply closet. No wonder he felt cramped. He lifted the phone to his face and pressed the "talk" button. "Hello?" he rasped.

"Sam? Did I wake you up?"

It sounded like Ava. Sam closed his eyes tightly and used his right hand to slowly push himself upright.

"Kinda," he said, "but I think I might've been unconscious."

"Oh," Ava said. "Are you in the middle of something?"

"No idea," Sam said, leaning against the nearest wall and rubbing his forehead. "What day is it?"

"Thursday," Ava answered.

"The date?"

"August sixteenth," said Ava slowly. "Sam, are you _sure_ you're OK?"

"No idea," Sam repeated. "At least I haven't lost that much time. Wait, is it morning or afternoon?"

"It's just after four o'clock. This is a bad time, isn't it?"

"Depends," Sam answered. "What's up?"

"I uh, I just wanted to talk," Ava stammered after a moment. "About last week."

"Oh," Sam said. "Yeah, this is a bad time, then, sorry."

"What's going on?"

Sam frowned. "I thought I'd been kidnapped by demons again, but I'm in a supply closet and I'm not sure where it's located. I hope I'm still in Baltimore."

"What d'you mean?"

"Huh?" Sam said, distracted as he managed to stand up. "Oh, I uh…" He huffed a small laugh. "It's a long story. Can I call you later when I figure out what's going on myself?"

"Yeah," Ava said. "Yeah, definitely. You be careful, OK?"

"I'll try," Sam said before hanging up. He shoved his phone back into his pocket and opened the door to the closet. Strangely enough, he found himself on the ground floor of the building he had been in just last night, when he'd been hacking into Mr. Giles' computer.

"That's weird," Sam muttered, closing the door behind him and heading for the front doors. Thankfully, he didn't run into anyone, and he staggered outside, blinking in the blinding sunlight. Just then, his phone started ringing again.

"What now?" he muttered, feeling irritated as he pulled it out once more and pressed the talk key. "Hello?"

"Sam? Where are you?"

"Oh, hey Jo," Sam said. "What's up?"

"What's up?" Jo sounded incredulous. "Where the hell have you _been_, Sam? Dean's at the police station, they think he killed Karen Giles —"

"Whoa," Sam said, making his way to the nearest wall and leaning against it. "What?"

"Where are you?" Jo asked again. Sam rubbed his forehead.

"Just outside the building Giles' office is in," he answered.

"What? How the fuck are you still there, the cops said they checked the place out after they caught us —"

"Caught you?" Sam echoed. "Jo, can you slow down? I'm so lost right now."

"Clearly," Jo sniped before sighing. "Just — hang tight, OK?" she said, her voice softer. "I'm on my way to get you right now. And don't call Dean, I couldn't get him out with me."

"Right," Sam said. "I'm waiting, Jo, but just so you know, I think I've been drugged, and I might have a concussion."

Jo didn't say anything for a moment. "I don't think I wanna know," she finally said in a resigned tone of voice. "Wait there, seriously."

Sam ended the call and carefully started probing the back of his head. He found where the baton had hit him and hissed, pulling his hands back to find congealed blood on them. "Terrific," he sighed, dropping his hands and closing his eyes against the too-bright sunlight. "This sucks."

And wasn't that an understatement?

* * *

_TBC..._


	6. Chapter Six: Survival of the Fittest

**From the Shadows**

**Chapter Six: Survival of the Fittest  
**

**I has internets! That means you get another chapter, so lemme know if you like! Oh, and since I keep forgetting to say this, parts of conversations have been taken from 2.07 "The Usual Suspects". Also, people die in this chapter, just so you know. Enjoy!  


* * *

**

Dean barely glanced at Detective Ballard as she slowly entered his interrogation room. "Can we make this quick?" he sighed, feeling very irritable. "I'm a little tired. It's been a long day, you know, with your partner _assaulting_ me and all."

Strangely, Ballard didn't rise to the bait. In fact, she didn't seem angry at all. "I wanna know more about that stuff you were talking about earlier," she said.

Dean stared up at the detective. "Time Life," he deadpanned. "'Mysteries of the Unknown'. Look it up."

Ballard took what seemed to be a calming breath. "Let's pretend for a moment you're not _entirely_ insane." Which he wasn't, at all. "What would one of these… these things be doing here?"

"A vengeful spirit?" Dean asked, beginning to suspect that this might be a serious conversation, after all. Ballard nodded, looking a little bit panicked at the idea of a spirit taking vengeance. "Well, they're created by violent deaths," he said. "And then they come back for a reason, usually a nasty one, like uh… Like revenge on the people that hurt 'em."

"And… these spirits," Ballard said hesitantly, "they're capable of killing people?" She reached a hand up to her neck, probably to rub it or something, but Dean was distracted by the dark marks on her wrist. Just like Karen.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, and Ballard started before pulling up her sleeves. Shit, they were bruised _exactly_ like Karen's.

"I don't know," Ballard said softly. "It wasn't there before."

_Shit, shit, shit!_ "You've seen it, haven't you?" Dean asked, keeping his voice steady as he stared up at the detective. "The spirit."

"How did you know? It only happened a few minutes ago —"

"I thought Jo would've told you," Dean cut her off, "about Karen's bruises? They were exactly the same, and I bet if you looked at Giles' autopsy photos, you'd see he's got 'em, too." He leaned forward, watching the emotions that flickered over Ballard's pale face. "It's got something to do with the spirit," he told her quietly, "but I don't know what."

Ballard turned away and Dean began speaking a little bit faster. Clearly, _she_ was the one in danger now, and he couldn't let her get killed, too, cop or not. "I know," he told her. "You think you're going crazy, but let's skip that part, shall we? Because the last two people who saw this thing? They died pretty soon after. You hear me?"

There was a long moment of silence.

"You think I'm gonna die," Ballard whispered.

"You need to find Sam and Jo. They can help."

"You're giving them up?" Ballard asked as she turned around, and Dean swallowed hard. He knew this was a big risk, but he couldn't let this woman die. Also, he _had_ to believe that Jo would find Sam and that his brother would adhere to their protocol.

"Go to the first motel listed in the yellow pages," he said after a moment. "Look for Jim Rockford. It's how me and Sam find each other when we're separated, and you can bet that Jo's already with him." He swallowed before continuing. "You can arrest them if you want," he told her. "Or, you can let my brother and my uh, girlfriend save your life."

Ballard stared at him. "You're not really dating Joanna, are you?"

Dean shrugged. "Kinda more like a good friend who needed a hand," he said. "Unfortunately, that led me here." He rattled his cuffed hands to make his point.

Ballard snorted and gave him a small smile. "Hang tight," she said, "this doesn't prove your innocence."

Dean smiled. "Of course," he said lightly, and Ballard rolled her eyes before leaving. Dean slumped in his chair the moment she was gone. It was up to Sam to figure things out, now.

* * *

Scott was waiting anxiously in Thomas' apartment while Gerald went out to kill a man or two. "Relax," Thomas told him, handing him a soda and joining him on the couch. "Gerry's got a lot of experience, he'll do this just fine and then you and your dad will be safe again."

"But what if Gerald doesn't do it?" Scott asked. "What if this Kubrick guy kills him, instead?" He shook his head and stood up to pace around the room. "I never shoulda gotten you guys involved."

"Too late," Thomas said, snagging his arm and pulling him back onto the couch. "Sam sent you our way, and this is how it's goin' down, like it or not."

"Have _you_ ever killed before?" Scott asked.

Thomas' face went blank. "My body has," he said.

Scott frowned.

"I was possessed by a demon a little over two months ago," Thomas sighed after a long moment, and Scott remembered Dean telling him that.

"Oh," he said. "Sorry."

Thomas shrugged. "It wasn't me," he said. "Not that it makes the guilt any less, but that's what I keep telling myself."

Neither man said anything for a few minutes. Scott was about to ask if Thomas minded watching something on the TV when the front door burst open and Gerald stormed in, covered in blood and looking angry and panicked all at once.

"We've all gotta bail," he told him, heading for the guest room as Scott and Thomas leapt to their feet. "Now."

"What happened?" Thomas asked as he and Scott followed the Hunter.

"A flood of _demons_ is what happened," Gerald said tersely as he started shoving his things into his bags. "Pack up, Tom, you're leaving, too."

"Demons?" Scott asked.

"How many?" asked Thomas at the same time.

"Near a dozen," Gerald answered. "Carlton died, but Kubrick managed to bail." Scott suddenly noticed a bad blood stain on Gerald's jacket along with a cut in the fabric that could only be caused by a knife.

"You're hurt," he said, but Gerald brushed him off.

"Call your dad, Scott," he told him, "none of us can stay here, anymore."

"The demons, they want you and me dead, don't they?" Thomas said, and Gerald paused before he nodded.

"That succubus was just the beginning of our problems, son," he said to his nephew, "and you can bet that Kubrick will try to come back for you, kid," he added to Scott, gesturing to him to grab up his things. Scott complied and pulled out his cell phone, dialing his dad's number as Thomas hurried off to his own room to pack up. He shifted impatiently as he waited for an answer.

"Hey, son," his father said over the line. "Are you safe now?"

"None of us are safe, Dad," Scott answered tersely. "The plan went south, so we've all gotta bail as soon as possible."

"What happened?"

"I'll tell you later," Scott said hurriedly as he shoved his things into his bag, "but right now you've gotta pack up your things and we've gotta go. We'll be there in —" He broke off and looked over at Gerald.

"Twenty minutes," the Hunter answered, and Scott repeated that to his father before hanging up. "I'm sorry about this," Gerald added after a few moments of tense, but silent packing.

"It's fine," Scott said, trying to sound nonchalant about the situation when his heart was racing faster than a jaguar could run. "I was never too fond of this town, anyway. Will Tom's parents be OK?"

Gerald sighed. "I dunno," he said, "but their lives are a little too rooted in the community to just up and run. I'll call them, though." He headed out of the room, bags slung over his arms and his own cell phone in one hand, body stiff as he clearly did his best to ignore his injury.

Scott couldn't believe this was happening, but he finished packing up what little he had brought to the apartment and headed out to Thomas' car, a green '02 Ford Explorer. Gerald and Thomas were already outside, putting bags into the back. "You and your dad'll be with me," Thomas told Scott as he approached, "Gerald's gonna follow in his car."

Minutes later, Scott and Thomas were barreling down the road to Scott's home, and Scott was relieved to see his father already standing outside with a few bags.

Thomas screeched to a halt and Scott leapt out of the car. "Is there anything else inside?" he asked at once as Gerald's car stopped right behind the Explorer.

"Anything you didn't take to Tom's," his father answered, and Scott rushed through the front door as Thomas helped him get his things into the back of his car. Pounding up the stairs, he slammed open the door to his bedroom —

"Hey, Scott."

A tall girl with dark hair and blue eyes was lounging comfortably on his bed. "Who are you?" Scott asked, stiffly eyeing the girl.

"Tara," the girl answered, eyes going black. "We need to talk."

A demon, here? Now? Could this situation get any worse?

"No," Scott said tersely to the demon, "we don't need to talk. Excuse me."

Tara raised her eyebrows. "You've gotten more ballsy since Sam and Dean came through last week," she said, scooting so her feet rested on the floor as she stared up at Scott.

"Thanks," Scott said sarcastically, moving to his closet and pulling out another two duffel bags.

"You really think you're leaving?"

Why hadn't Scott thought to put salt on the windowsills? He couldn't deal with this right now!

"I do," he told Tara, grabbing clothes and shoving them into the first duffel bag. "You gonna stop me?"

"I'm not allowed to _touch_ you, special child," Tara replied. "Thomas and Gerald, on the other hand…"

"You leave them alone," Scott snapped, turning to face the demon. "They're only trying to help me."

"It's not _my_ problem that Hunters are interested in _killing_ you like I'm interested in killing those two," Tara drawled, a lazy smile on her face. "You wanna know a secret?" she asked after another moment had passed.

"Not really," Scott said, dread beginning to well up in him. Tara's smile became a wicked grin, and she slowly stood. _She's tall_, Scott thought absently.

"My father only needs _one_ of you crazy kids alive," Tara said softly, and Scott froze, duffel bags slipping from his numb fingers. "You and Ava caused me a lot of problems last week, whether you meant it or not, and all this?" The demon spread her arms wide. "Survival of the fittest."

There was yelling outside, and the sound of gunshots. Scott jerked away, about to run from his room, check to see what was going on, but then a tall, thin man with short but curly blonde-ish hair stepped into the doorway. There was utter silence, both inside and outside the house.

"Scott Carey, meet Kubrick the Hunter," said Tara smugly. "Bye-bye." And she was gone.

"You made a deal with a demon?" Scott asked, backing away from Kubrick as he stepped into the room.

"Nope," Kubrick said. "Got knocked out earlier and woke up in the bathroom just now, gun and all." He moved closer and Scott felt his legs hit his desk. He was trapped. "I _did_ take a quick look outside. Pretty gruesome." He shook his head, a creepy smile growing over his face, and he raised the gun in his hand.

Scott was terrified, and he knew he only had once choice left. His hands, thankfully, were already behind him, grasping the edge of his desk, so he slowly reached for one glove and carefully pulled it off. He only had one shot at this. "Is my dad still alive?"

Kubrick shrugged. "Don't know, don't care." He let off the safety on his gun and aimed it.

Scott took a calming breath and dove forward.

The gun fired.

* * *

Jo broke into the first nondescript car she found after calling Sam by payphone. How was he still at the office building and not in police custody? She shook her head, trying to focus. They didn't have a lot of time; _Dean_ didn't have a lot of time.

She pulled up at the front of the office building to see Sam leaning against a wall. Leaving the engine running, she stepped out of the car and hurried over to him. "Are you OK?" she asked.

Sam shrugged and Jo noticed dried blood towards the back of his neck. "Well, we need to regroup," she told him. "I don't think they know what motel I've been staying at, so we'll go there."

Sam started to follow Jo to her car before stopping and shaking his head with a wince. "No," he said, "not there. Need to follow protocol."

"What?" Jo said, watching as Sam practically staggered to the nearest phone booth and grabbed out the phone book, flipping through the yellow pages. "Sam?"

"Here," Sam said, pointing to the first motel listed in the yellow pages. "We're going there."

"OK," Jo said as she grabbed Sam's arm and led him back to the car. "Why there?"

"It's what we do when we're separated," Sam explained, carefully lowering himself into the front seat of the blue Honda and carefully buckling up his seatbelt.

"I don't think Dean's breaking out without our help," Jo told him.

"Doesn't matter," Sam replied. "That's where we're going."

Jo stared at Sam for a moment before heading to the driver's side and clambering in. "Fine," she said, pulling back out onto the street. "Now, tell me, what the hell happened to you?"

Sam didn't say anything for a moment. "A demon jumped me," he finally sighed, and Jo slammed on the brakes and turned to stare at the tall man.

"What?"

"I know," Sam said, and now that Jo thought about it, he _did_ sound tired and a little out of it. "I can sense demons — figured that out last week — but only when they're in the same area that I am. I think this one was hiding inside its host, so I could sense _something_, but I couldn't identify it until it took over the body and literally tackled me." He reached to the back of his head and winced again. "Hit me with the security guard's baton and knocked me out."

Jo started with someone behind her honked her horn, but she started driving again. "Then what?" she asked.

"Woke up, some holding room," Sam replied. "It was a demon from L.A."

Jo understood enough about Sam to know he was talking about the period when he'd been held prisoner by the demon who had killed his mother nearly 23 years ago. "How'd he find you?"

"We came here to find some information, and we had to exorcise a demon during that process," Sam answered. "The other demon figured out it was us, and he wanted to know what I'd learned, injected me with something and promised torture, but the next time I woke up, I was in a supply closet on the first floor of that building." He shook his head again with another wince. "I don't know what's going on, anymore."

Jo sighed as she pulled up to the motel. "Any other part of this protocol I should know about?" she asked, and Sam blinked at her before pulling out his wallet and handing over a card.

"Check in under the name Jim Rockford," he told her.

Jo nodded and headed into the main office, doing as Sam said and making sure to get a room on the other side of the motel on the ground floor. She headed back to the car and moved it to the correct spot. "Let's get you inside," she said, "I need to check out your head, make sure you don't need stitches or anything."

Sam lumbered out of the car and followed her into the room, dropping onto the bed nearest the door and rubbing his forehead. Jo shut the motel room's door and headed into the bathroom to grab a washcloth. After soaking it in hot water and wringing it out, she headed back over to Sam, carefully sitting down behind him.

"This'll probably sting," she said softly as she probed for the right spot. Sam hissed and jerked away. "Found it."

Sam was tense as she washed away the blood and gently moved his shaggy hair aside to get a better look at the wound. "It looks like it'll scab on its own," Jo told him, sitting back and tossing the washcloth onto the nightstand. "Any idea what you were injected with?"

"No," Sam said, shoulders slumping slightly as he dropped his head into his hands. "All I know is that it's made it really hard for me to focus, so I can't do anything or really control any of it."

That had to mean that he hadn't been able to use his powers, still couldn't if Jo was understanding him right. That really had to suck after everything else he'd been through. "Got a flashlight?" she asked, trying to stay focused. "I need to check your eyes."

Sam dug into his jacket and pulled out a small light, which Jo carefully shined into his eyes. "Pupils are equal and reactive to light," she muttered, turning it off and handing it back. "I think you got lucky there. Headache?"

"Yeah," Sam said softly, slowly standing and heading over to the bathroom. Jo watched him grab a plastic cup, unwrap it and fill it with water before he sat down and slowly drained it.

"I take it you're a little dehydrated, too."

"Uh-huh. Was your car impounded along with ours?"

Jo nodded. "The cops think Dean and I are a couple."

Sam snorted. "Dean has _never_ dated anyone with any amount of regularity…" He trailed off, glancing at Jo before dropping his eyes. "You probably didn't wanna hear that."

"Not really," Jo sighed, "but I figured that out after enough time passed."

"It's not you," Sam said quietly. "It was just… timing."

It sounded lame, but Jo thought she could understand. Between Sam's captivity and their dad making a Deal… She gave Sam a sad smile. "I get it," she told him. "Are we gonna just sit around now?"

Sam considered the question for a moment, but before he could say anything there was a knock on the door. "What the…?" Jo stood up and headed over to the door, opening it and freezing.

"What?" Sam asked, and Jo could hear him standing up.

"Is that Sam Winchester in there?"

"How'd you know where to find us?" Jo asked, finally stepping back to allow the woman passage into the motel room.

"Dean told me," Diana Ballard answered, slowly stepping into the room. "He said you could help me."

"Help you?" Sam looked so confused. "What's going on?"

"I'm Detective Diana Ballard," the older woman told him, "I'm working your brother's case. And Joanna's."

"It's Jo," Jo ground out, shutting the door forcefully and leaning against it. "Why'd he send you to us?"

Ballard seemed slightly put off by the attitude, but Jo found she didn't much care. After a moment, the detective raised her wrists, pulling up her sleeves and revealing bruises that were _exactly_ like Karen Giles.

"You've seen the spirit," Jo breathed, and Ballard nodded.

"Dean thinks I'm going to be the next to die," she said. "Please, I need your help."

Jo looked over at Sam. "Still confused?"

Sam nodded and winced again, reaching up to the bump on his head.

"Don't touch it," Jo snapped at him, moving forward to pull his hand away from his head. "I said it'd scar on its own, but you've gotta _leave it the hell alone_."

"You have a horrible bedside manner," Sam remarked, blinking down at her.

"Are you hurt?" Ballard asked.

Sam smiled. "Had some troubles of my own," he answered, "but it's not important. Tell me everything that's been going on since Dean headed to the Giles' house to meet you," he said to Jo.

"It's a long story," she sighed.

"I think we have enough time," Sam replied, finally looking every bit the Hunter that Jo knew him to be. So, heaving another sigh, Jo sat down and began to tell Sam everything.

* * *

_TBC..._


	7. Chapter Seven: The Death Omen

**From the Shadows**

******Chapter Seven: The Death Omen**

**********So I'm a night-owl by nature. It's like I just can't sleep at night sometimes, so I write, instead, or maybe watch something. Anyway, I found myself an internets signal, so I now present chapter 7. As always, people swear, someone dies, and there's mention of a certain Grim Reaper we all know. Please, read and tell me what you think!

* * *

**

"Did you call Sam?" Brady asked at dinner that night.

"Yeah," Ava said after a moment of thought before setting her fork down and meeting Brady's eyes, "but we didn't really get to talk, he was kinda in the middle of something."

"That's too bad," Brady said after a moment. "Will you get another chance?"

Ava nodded. "Sam said he'd call as soon as he could." She frowned. "I hope he's all right."

"Did he sound all right?"

Ava snorted. "He sounded like he'd just come to after being knocked out, thought he'd been kidnapped by demons or something," she said. "So, I told him to be careful and call when he could."

"Does that sound normal for him?" asked Brady, looking a little concerned.

"Given what happened last week?" Ava shrugged. "Probably."

"Hmm," Brady said.

They ate in silence.

Later that night, they were watching the news when a special report came on.

"We're reporting from Lafayette, Indiana," the news anchor said, standing on a too-familiar street, "at the scene of a murder. Four men were attacked at this house," and she gestured to a house with a recently repaired window on the second floor. "Three were outside, apparently packing their things in a hurry when they were set upon by criminals that have yet to be identified. Two of the three men were proclaimed dead on sight, and the third man remains in critical condition. The final man was inside the house, and is also dead." The anchor turned to stare at the flashing lights of officials as they hurried around behind her. "I haven't been able to get any details, but while it seems firearms were used by two of the men outside the house, only the man _inside_ the house was killed by gunfire."

"Oh, God," Ava whispered. "That's Scott's house."

Brady stilled next to her. "Scott Carey?"

Ava barely nodded. "He's dead," she said. "Someone _killed_ him, Brady. He's _dead_."

* * *

"Illchester?"

Sam followed Detective Ballard to her car, Jo just behind him. "I need my laptop," he told the older woman, "and that's where it is."

"Why were you staying all the way out there?" Ballard asked, unlocking her car and allowing Sam to take the passenger seat.

"Jo asked for help with the case," Sam explained. "We were doing other things."

"What other things?" Ballard asked.

"It's not important," Sam said, "but it didn't involve murder." He put on his seatbelt as Jo slid into the backseat and Ballard started up her car. He reached up to touch the back of his head again, but Jo managed to reach far enough forward to bat his hand away again.

"What happened to you?" asked Ballard.

"I got jumped by a demon," Sam said, too tired to try and make up a lie.

Ballard didn't say anything as she looked at him, her emotions doing all the speaking for her. Well, at least the damn empathy was still working, although the idea of controlling it seemed even more impossible than it had the day before in that diner. And God did that seem like lifetime ago, even though it'd only been about twenty-four hours since that moment.

"You asked," Sam said defensively after another moment of Ballard's silence. "It's not my fault they exist, too."

The detective continued to stare at him. He could feel Jo's amusement radiating from the backseat and his headache increased.

"Look, can we please get going?" he asked, starting to feel frustrated as he rubbed at his forehead. "Dean doesn't have a lot of time and I prefer having him around rather than in jail on death row."

After a moment, Ballard's emotions relented just enough and she nodded silently, pulling out of the parking let and heading west. When they arrived at the small motel, Sam directed Ballard to the correct room. He headed inside and sat down at the table, opening his laptop and almost immediately typing away. He barely paid attention to Jo and Ballard as they sat down on Dean's bed, which was unmade, as usual. How typical of his older brother.

Sam _needed_ to get him out of that precinct.

"OK," he said some time later, "I pulled up every girl who's died or gone missing from Ashland Street."

"What?" Ballard shot to her feet and leaned over Sam's shoulder. "These are from crime scenes —" She broke off and Sam flinched at the waves of shock and mild anger mixed with awe. "Did you hack into our database?"

"You have your job," Sam told her, "and I have mine. Now, you're the only person who can identify this girl, so if you could just look?"

He slowly started clicking through the files, and after a minute or so, Ballard told him to stop at the image of a girl named Claire Becker. "But I don't know her," Ballard told Sam, bewilderment weighing heavily in the swirl of emotions. "Why would she come after me?"

Sam pulled up Claire's file again. "Well, before she vanished five months ago," he began, eyes skimming the woman's rap sheet, "she was arrested twice for dealing heroin. You ever work narcotics?"

"Yeah," Ballard said. "My partner, Pete, he and I worked there before homicide." And that opened a whole new can of worms in the woman's emotions. If Sam had to guess, he'd say that Ballard must be romantically involved with her partner.

"Did you ever bust her?' Sam asked, closing his eyes and trying to focus over the wave of emotions constantly rippling around him. It was getting worse, the emotions stronger than ever as if there was no filter of any kind in Sam's brain. Not that there had ever seemed to be one before Buck's interference, but now it was like listening to bad music (most of Dean's mullet rock collection) at ear-splitting volume, only without a way to turn the volume down

"Not that I remember," Ballard answered, still staring at Claire's file, and Sam forced himself to focus.

"It says she was last seen entering 2911 Ashland Street," he told Ballard as he scrolled through Claire's information. "The police searched the place, but never found anything." He glanced over at Jo.

"We've gotta go back," Jo said as she stood, "check it out ourselves, see if there's a body or not."

"What?" Shocked surprise rushed at Sam's senses and he suppressed another flinch.

"Well," Jo said, giving Ballard a cocky grin, "we've gotta salt and burn her bones. It's the only way to put her spirit to rest."

"Of course it is," Ballard sighed.

"I've got supplies over in the corner," Sam said, pointing, and Jo went to retrieve the bag, her determination to prove her ability at the forefront of her emotions. Sam turned back to Claire's file and quickly reread the details of her previous arrests. He was starting to think that there was something really off about all this. What if Claire wasn't a vengeful spirit? No one had any real connections with Claire, so why…?

"OK," Jo said, "let's head back to Baltimore before things get any worse."

Sam nodded and shut his laptop. Suddenly, he remembered his antibiotics and some pain meds Dean had left in the bathroom with their med kit. "Hang on," he muttered, quickly heading back and taking what he needed before pulling up his sleeve and checking his stitches. It looked like the infection was finally dying down, and Sam sighed. At least _one_ thing seemed to be going right

"What happened to your arm?" came Jo's voice.

"Got attacked by a girl two weeks back," Sam answered. "Not that it was her fault…"

Jo frowned. "Didn't you go see Andy two weeks ago?" she asked.

"The mind controller? Yeah."

Jo stared at Sam, and this time, he didn't even _try_ to comprehend the waves of emotions she emitted. "We have a lot of catching up to do," she said, and Sam snorted in agreement.

* * *

"Sam!" Jo called as she and Ballard stared at a pale girl with dark red eyes and a slit throat. "Sam, down here!"

Claire's spirit pointed behind the women and vanished just as Sam came down the stairs and into the basement of 2911 Ashland Street. "You saw Claire?"

Jo turned to the wall with a nod. "She was pointing here," she told him, "but I don't get it. Why would she want us to find her body if she's vengeful?"

"I don't think she's a vengeful spirit," Sam told Jo, grabbing his EMF detector and moving toward the wall as he turned it on.

"What's that thing do?" Ballard asked.

"It detects electromagnetic fields," Jo told her, eyes on the youngest Winchester as he moved closer to the wall. "Spirits emit a frequency we can detect with it. And what do you mean, she's not a vengeful spirit?"

Sam ignored her and approached the wall. A moment later, the EMF started beeping loudly. "I need something to break this down," Sam said, looking around before striding across the basement. "Hey, S-U-P."

Jo looked to see Sam pointing at the nearest window. "Ashland Supplies," she muttered. "Mystery solved."

Sam grabbed a pole and approached the wall again. "Stand back," he instructed, lifting the pole with both hands.

"Are you sure you should be doing that with your stitches?" Jo asked as she pulled Detective Ballard back a few steps, but Sam ignored her again and went to work.

"There's definitely something back there," he told her and Ballard after a moment before resuming his task and knocking out more bricks.

After a minute or so, he backed away and Jo approached the hole to see a bag big enough to hold the body of a woman. "Help me," she said to Ballard, and they reached in and pulled it out. Sam crouched down with them on the floor as they opened the bag.

"That's Claire," Ballard said softly. Jo nodded and looked down at her wrists, which were tied together with coarse rope.

"They're bound," she said, pointing them out to Ballard. "They would've bruised just like yours."

"Oh, God," Ballard breathed, and Jo watched her gently reach forward to touch Claire's necklace.

"What?" Sam asked.

"This necklace," Ballard said, sitting back and closing her eyes for a moment, "I've seen it before. It's custom-made, rare, really, and it's made over on Carson Street." She reached up to her neck and Jo saw an identical necklace hanging from it. "I have one just like it. Pete gave it to me."

"She's a death omen," Sam suddenly said, standing up.

Jo stared up at him and let her brain put all the pieces together. He was right. "Shit," she cursed loudly. How could she have not seen this before?

"Wait, what does that mean?" Ballard asked.

"Claire's not killing anyone," Sam told her, "she's just trying to _warn_ them. See, some spirits don't want vengeance," he continued, "they want justice. That's why she led us here in the first place, so we could find her, find her killer."

"How well do you know your partner?" Jo asked hesitantly after a moment, and Ballard's pale face froze and went paler.

"Some heroin went missing from lock-up about a year ago," she told Jo and Sam, staring at them in horror. "We never found out who did it, but whoever did it would need someone to fence their product."

"A dealer," Jo sighed, looking up at Sam.

"Claire," Sam said, nodding his head slightly before looking over at Ballard. "We need to go to the station, now."

* * *

"I'm dead, aren't I?"

A pale woman with chin-length, black hair and pale blue eyes smiled sadly. "I'm afraid so," she said. "I am sorry."

Scott sighed and stared down at his body before watching Kubrick the jack-ass of a Hunter leave the room, task completed. "Will my dad be OK?" he asked. "What about Thomas and Gerald?"

The woman appeared genuinely sad. "I don't know about your father," she told him, "but I'm afraid that the others? Thomas and Gerald, they didn't make it. I already sent them on their way."

Scott squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't want my dad to die," he said. "Hell, _I_ don't want to die." He opened his eyes and stared at the woman. "Why did it have to happen this way?"

"I don't know," the woman answered quietly, "I only know that it did." She paused. "Are you ready?"

Scott would _never_ be ready. "Can I — see my dad?" he asked after a moment. "One last time? Please?"

After a moment, the woman nodded and led him down the stairs and out of the house. Paramedics were just arriving on the scene, and Scott's dad was lying on his side, gasping for air. "I'm so sorry, Dad," Scott whispered. "Please live. For me."

He turned to the woman. "What's your name?"

"Tessa," the woman said.

"Are you like, a grim reaper?" Scott asked, and Tessa nodded. "I uh…" He choked out a laugh and felt tears running down his cheeks. "I guess this is it," he managed to say, looking back at his father as the paramedics fought to stabilize him enough to put him on a gurney. "I hate to leave this way."

"Death is never easy," Tessa told him quietly, "but everyone has a time, and everyone has a place."

"Yeah," Scott whispered. "Yeah, they do." He watched as his father was moved onto the gurney and rushed to the nearest ambulance. "I'm ready."

Tessa nodded, touched his shoulder and the world went white.

* * *

Diana thought she might stop breathing.

"Thanks," she managed to say after a moment and snapped her cell phone shut.

"What is it?" Sam asked, looking worried in the dying light as a storm rolled into the area.

Diana wondered what it was about Sam Winchester that made one want to help him, protect him at all costs. He was easily a foot taller than she, and it was clear both he and his brother worked out and were capable to defending themselves, but while Dean projected the image of a warrior and leader, Sam had something almost innocent about him. She didn't doubt for one moment that he'd led a hard life, but there was still something about him that she couldn't quite figure out. All she knew was that she hated the news she was about to impart to the young man next to her.

"Pete," she finally said, "just left the precinct." She met Sam's eyes and bit her lip. "With Dean."

"What?" Sam and Jo said at the same time.

"He said the prisoner had to be transferred, and he just… _took _him. Dispatch has been calling, but he won't answer the radio."

"Radio?" Sam echoed. "He took a county vehicle?"

"Yeah," Diana said.

"Then it should have a LoJack," Sam said, wincing slightly at a sudden flash of lightning and making Diana wonder if he _did_ have a concussion, after all. "You just… gotta turn it on."

Diana stared at Sam. "You know a lot more than you should," she told him, and he huffed out a laugh and actually smiled, revealing dimples for a brief moment.

"Given the life we've led," he replied, "you'd be surprised by the things I know."

Diana nodded thoughtfully and set about getting the LoJack turned on. "Got him," she said a few minutes later, and they were off, heading west once more.

The van was stopped somewhere in the woods, and Diana and Sam both agreed to stop a little ways away to give them a chance to sneak up on Pete.

As they approached, the detective couldn't help but hate what she was hearing.

"You're a cocky son of a bitch," Pete was saying in a harsh voice. "You think those people in St. Louis are gonna buy that crap you're peddling?" He paused. "Here's the thing," he said, and now he sounded smug. "You're not gonna _make it_ to St. Louis. You're gonna die trying to escape."

Sam stiffened next to Diana.

"Wait! Wait!" Dean said loudly before there was another flash of lighting and a harsh crack of thunder. "Let's talk about this. You wouldn't wanna do something you're gonna regret." There was the sound of a gun cocking. "Or maybe you do."

"Shit," Sam breathed and Diana rushed forward.

"Pete!" she shouted as she stepped out from the shadows, gun drawn and pointed at her partner, the man she thought she loved. "Put the gun down!"

Dean was still cuffed, on his knees with Pete's gun pointing right at his head. "Diana?" Pete said, sounding surprised. "How'd you find me?"

"I know about Claire," Diana told him, arms tense, but firm.

Pete blinked and his face went blank. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, but she knew that tone of voice, and she wasn't buying it.

"Put the gun down!" she repeated, aware of Sam and Jo standing just behind her.

"No," Pete said after a moment. "No, I don't think so. You're fast," he told her, nodding at her gun. "Pretty sure I'm faster." Thunder rumbled in the air again.

"Why are you doing this?" Diana asked. She had to know why, after everything they'd been through together, why he'd turned to murder.

"I didn't do _anything_, Diana."

Diana glared at Pete. "It's a little late for that load of shit," she snapped, and Dean seemed surprised by her language.

"It wasn't my fault," Pete said. "Claire was gonna turn me in, I had no choice."

Diana felt her heart crack, but she pushed that aside for the moment and focused as best she could on the situation at hand. "What about Tony?" she asked, keeping her eyes on Pete, on the gun in his hand. "And Karen?"

"Same thing!" Pete exclaimed. "Tony scrubbed the money, then he got skittish, and then he wanted to come clean. I'm sure he told Karen everything," he added. "It was a mess, I had to clean it up. I just… panicked!"

"How many more people are gonna die over this, Pete?" Diana asked coldly.

"There's a way out," Pete said, gesturing to Dean with his gun as another flash of lightning rent the sky in two. "This Dean's a fuckin' _gift_, Diana! We can pin the whole thing on him OK? No trial, nothing. Just one more dead scumbag."

"Hey!" Dean and Jo said at the same time, voices almost drowned out by thunder. Sam remained silent, but Diana could feel the tension radiating off of him, along with something else. It was fear. Sam was truly afraid for his brother.

"No one will question it," Pete told Diana earnestly, only half of his face visible in the dying light. "Diana, please. I still love you."

There was only one thing Diana could think of to do now, and yes, it was a risk, but it was one she had to take. She just hoped Sam would understand. Swallowing hard, Diana slowly lowered her gun.

"Thank you," Pete said softly. _"Thank you."_ He went to squeeze the trigger.

Diana shot him in the leg and he went down, yelling in pain.

Chest heaving with too many emotions, Diana approached Pete. "Then why don't you buy me another necklace, you ass!" Pete suddenly grabbed her by the ankle and yanked. She went down hard, cursing herself for her misjudgment.

Pete staggered to his feet, gun in hand. "Don't move!" he shouted, and Diana saw that Sam had hauled Dean to his feet. They froze, mere feet away from where Jo stood.

"Don't do this," Sam said, placing himself in front of Dean and wincing when lightning flashed in the sky, followed by more thunder. "He's no murderer."

"But he is!" Pete shouted, taking a dragging step closer and pointing his gun right at Sam's heart. Diana realized that his back was turned to her and she slowly moved towards her gun. "Your brother's gotta pay!"

"Sam, move," Dean said, but Sam didn't budge and Dean huffed a frustrated growling sound. "OK, mind-zap him, then!"

"Can't," Sam said, and Diana felt even _more_ confused. "I got drugged earlier, it's still not working."

"Drugged?" Dean said, sounding incredulous, his eyes wide as he stared up at his brother. "Sam, where the fuck have you _been_?"

"Enough!" Pete shouted. "I'll kill you all if I have to!"

"No," Sam snapped, "you're acting like a crazy man."

That's when Claire appeared again, staring right at Pete, only he didn't notice. Diana knew she had to act, and fast.

Dean moved far enough to the side that Pete could shoot him, and the moment the gun moved, Sam dove forward. Diana made a lunge for her own gun as Pete's went off, and she saw Sam's eyes go wide as he tackled Pete to the ground with a cry of pain, lightning and thunder lighting up the sky and almost making Diana go deaf.

Diana leveled her gun on Pete, but Pete seized up the moment Sam's hands touched him, like Sam was using a taser on him. Except he wasn't. There was nothing but Sam's hands and the sight of Pete somehow being electrocuted and Dean's shouting and Claire smiling under the flash of more lightning —

Sam shoved away from Pete, breathing hard as he clutched at his left shoulder and Diana lurched to her feet, staring numbly.

The smell of burnt flesh permeated the air and smoke rose from the body before her. Pete Sheridan, Diana's partner, the man she had _loved,_ was dead.

* * *

_TBC..._


	8. Chapter Eight: Release

**From the Shadows**

**Chapter Eight: Release  
**

**Chapter! There's one more to go after this, and then I'll be starting the next story. Enjoy!

* * *

**

Dean was… Well, honestly, he wasn't quite certain how he felt at that moment.

He could only stare as Sam electrocuted Detective Sheridan to death. He could only watch as the spirit — Claire, Ballard had called her — looked on and smiled as lightning flashed above them, lighting up her pale face. When Sam shoved away from Sheridan's body and stumbled backwards, breathing so hard he might just hyperventilate and clutching at his left arm tightly, Dean couldn't move.

He couldn't figure anything out.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

"No," Sam gasped, tripping on an old branch and landing hard on his backside, revealing the blood on his shoulder where Sheridan's bullet had pierced his skin. "No, not this, too, no no no —"

Claire's spirit vanished as Ballard lurched to her feet, gun in her hands. "How —?"

"I didn't — It wasn't — Oh, God," Sam gasped, scrambling away when Ballard looked at him and almost going down completely as his left arm just about gave out on him. Thunder rumbled in the air and everything smelt of ozone and death.

"Sam, what did you do?" Ballard asked. She took a step towards Sam and he was on his feet, backing even further way.

"Don't touch — don't come near me," he all but shouted, eyes wide and chest heaving. He looked anywhere but at Dean, right hand back on his wound.

"OK," Ballard said, taking a step back and holstering her gun. "Just calm down, Sam, and explain to me what happened."

"It's another ability, isn't it?" Jo said, and Dean finally moved. None of this was supposed to happen.

"Sam —" Dean said, but Sam backed away all the more, panicked face lit up by another flash of lightning.

"Ability?" Ballard questioned.

"We told you that there's more to the world," Jo said, moving to stand next to Dean. "Spirits, demons, monsters — well, there are special people, too." Dean glanced down at Jo and was fascinated by how calm she seemed. "Psychics _do_ exist."

"Oh," Ballard said.

"Most of them are your run-of-the-mill 'read your mind and sense energies' kind of psychic," Jo continued. "But there are some, all of them around Sam's age, and they can do… other things."

"Like electrocuting people to death with a touch?" Ballard asked and Sam flinched, fingers flexing against his bloody shoulder.

"Yeah," Dean finally said, "but that wasn't something Sam could do before now, let alone control."

"So what _can_ you do?" Ballard asked Sam. He didn't say anything, looking away and clutching even more tightly at his shoulder.

"Mind control," Dean finally supplied, "empathy, super strength, uh, visions and now this."

"How?" Ballard asked.

"I'm a freak," Sam finally said, and Dean couldn't help the anger that ignited in his chest.

"You're _not_ a freak, Sam," he snapped, "how many times do I have to say it? None of it is your fault!"

"But I just _killed_ him!" Sam shouted, and he finally met Dean's eyes. The kid was terrified. "I just wanted to stop him from shooting you and I —" He shook his head and took another step back, left fist clenched tightly against his thigh in that way that meant the tremors had taken it over again. Dean suddenly feared his brother would take off running at any moment, and that was the last thing the poor kid clearly needed to do. He needed help, he needed to calm down, and he _needed_ to let Dean get close enough to see that he was fine.

"Sam, calm down," he said, slowly moving forward.

"No, Dean —"

"Sammy, _calm down_." Dean kept moving forward, cuffed hands held pleadingly in front of him. "This is just another thing to add to the list, and we'll deal with it."

"How?" Sam asked, voice catching. "I don't dare touch anyone else, and I don't want you touching me and getting —" He broke off again, staring at Sheridan's corpse and pulling his left arm even closer to his body, if that were possible.

"We'll learn how to control it," Dean told him, "just like the empathy, just like the mind control. You will make it through this, I promise you."

Sam remained still as Dean continued to approach him. He knew he was taking a risk, but he couldn't help but feel that this was only a result of whatever Sam had been drugged with, a way of coping in an uncontrollable situation.

He touched Sam's clenched left hand with his right hand.

Nothing happened.

Sam choked out a sob and slumped to his knees, left hand loosening enough to grasp Dean's hand in his. It _was_ trembling and Dean felt his heart ache for his little brother's pain.

"You're gonna be fine," Dean told him softly, dropping down to his knees, as well. "Now, you got a paperclip on ya?" He rattled his handcuffs slightly.

Sam looked up with a wet smile and he dug into a pocket, pulling out a paperclip and carefully bending it out of shape. About a minute later, Dean's hands were free.

"What happens now?" Jo asked as the handcuffs dropped with a light "thunk".

"Pete…" Dean looked over at Ballard and watched as she visibly pulled herself together. "He _did_ confess to me. I don't have anything to explain how he died, though."

"The storm," Jo said. "Blame this storm."

Ballard closed her eyes and nodded. "All right. I'll get them to drop the case here," she said, closing her eyes for a moment. "Pete handled it poorly."

"You'd really do that for us?" Jo asked.

"Yeah," Ballard said. "It's worth risking my job. But St. Louis…" She shook her head. "I can't help you there."

"Kinda figured," Dean told her as he helped Sam to stand up.

Ballard snorted and smiled. "I'll tell them you guys managed to escape, but you'll need to be careful, they'll be looking for you, and if they figure out that one of you ended up injured —"

"We'll manage," Jo said, pulling out a wad of cloth from the bag she'd been carrying and handing it over to Dean. "Any idea where our cars are?"

"The uh… the impound lot on Robertson."

Dean nodded thoughtfully as he carefully pried Sam's hand from the bullet hole and placed the cloth over it before replacing Sam's hand where it'd been. He could work with that.

"Don't you even dare," Ballard said, and Jo laughed.

"Don't worry about it," she told the older woman, "we'll improvise." She looked over at Dean and her smile softened. "We're pretty good at it."

"I've noticed," Ballard said dryly, and even Sam had to chuckle slightly.

"Thank you," Dean said.

"Just get back out there," said Ballard, "I want you all doing what you do best. I'll sleep better at night, trust me."

Dean nodded at her and jerked his head at Jo. "C'mon. We've got some walking to do," he said.

Jo waved at Ballard and Dean tugged on Sam's hand. They walked away and into the shadows of the forest before Dean couldn't wait anymore.

"Sam, what happened to you while I was being arrested?"

"It's a long story," Sam mumbled.

"We've got time," Dean said. "It's gonna be awhile before we can get that cleaned out," he added, nodding his head at Sam's shoulder. His little brother sighed after a moment.

"Well," he finally said, "I was leaving Giles' office…"

* * *

Jo finished packing her things at the motel she'd been staying at before this whole fiasco had begun and zipped her duffel bag shut with a little more force than necessary. Heading back outside, she tossed her things into her pickup and looked over at Sam and Dean, who were leaning against their Impala, the black paint shining in the early-morning sunlight.

"That was quite the adventure, wasn't it?" she said, and Dean snorted.

"Story of our lives lately," he said and Sam smiled slightly.

"You sure you'll both be fine?" Jo asked. "I kinda got you into a lot of trouble earlier."

"We'll manage," Dean told her. "Now if _you_ could just keep outta trouble…"

Jo laughed and punched Dean in the arm. "I'm not some damsel in distress," she said. "I just need more practice, is all."

Dean smiled, and it was the warmest one he'd ever sent her way. "Keep practicing," he told her, "and you'll learn a lot."

"I know," Jo said. "Anyway, I think I owe my mom a proper visit after this, though she might chain me up in the basement for getting into so much trouble…"

"Ellen? Never." Jo stared at Dean. "Well, I'll believe a severe tongue-lashing from your mom," he amended, "but I think she'll learn you're an adult one of these days."

Jo smiled. "Thanks." She hugged both brothers on impulse and clambered into her truck. "Stay safe!" she called as she gunned the engine and drove away, watching Sam and Dean wave from her rear-view mirror.

They were good souls, the both of them. She understood now that sometimes the ones you love might not love you back in the exact same way, but that was fine. Dean was still someone she could trust with her life, and it was good enough.

* * *

Ava was taking her lunch break the next day when her phone rang. It was Sam.

"Hey," she said, "figured out if you were kidnapped or not?"

Sam gave a small laugh. "I was, but they let me go. I still don't know why."

Ava laughed and then she found she wanted to cry. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Scott's dead."

There was a long moment of silence.

"How? What happened, do you know?"

"It was on the news last night and this morning," Ava answered, blinking against sudden tears. "His dad's still in critical condition, but Scott and those two men from last week, Gerald and Thomas? They're dead, too." She took a deep breath and dropped the bombshell. "Gerald, Tom and Scott's dad were outside, packing up their cars when they were attacked, but none of them were shot to death. Scott was in his room, packing his things, and he was shot at point-blank range. The authorities, they found trace amounts of sulfur in Scott's room and by the others, and they also found some fingerprints in the house belonging to a man named Weyland Kubrick. He's uh, wanted in a bunch of states for credit card fraud, assault and… grave desecration."

"He's a Hunter, then," Sam said. "And the sulfur? That definitely means demons."

"I thought you might say that, given what you've told me about your life," Ava replied shakily. "You don't — you don't think this Kubrick guy could find me, do you?"

"I…" Sam took a deep breath and she heard him shifting in his seat. She also realized she could hear an engine going and thought he must be in the car with Dean. "I don't think so," he finally said. "Gordon only saw your face and heard your name once, right?"

"Yeah."

"I'd keep an eye out, but honestly, I'm sure you're still safe."

Ava let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and slumped in her seat.

"I'm so jumpy lately," she told Sam. "I don't mean to be, but someone startles me and I about scream bloody murder."

"I was eight when I learned the truth," Sam said. "Trust me, I know how that feels. You just…" He sighed and shifted again in his seat. "You just have to keep telling yourself that things'll work out, that you're safe _because_ you know the truth. My dad always said that knowledge is power, but you have to use it to your advantage or risk trouble with the wrong people by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. It's not easy," he added softly, "but you have to believe in yourself and what you know."

Ava sniffed and surreptitiously wiped at her eyes. "Thanks, Sam," she said, aware of how her voice choked up. "That — it helps."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Anytime."

* * *

Dean pulled up at the abandoned convent just as Sam finished his call with Ava. "So, Scott's dead," Sam said. "Some Hunter named Kubrick."

"Never heard of him," Dean told him as they emerged from the Impala. "I'll bet he's a friend of Gordon's though. Poor Scott," he added in a softer voice after a moment, emotions shifting into a lighter shade of sorrow.

"Yeah," Sam said, shutting the passenger door with his right hand and keeping his left arm close to his body. The bullet wound still ached, but neither it nor the cut on his arm were showing signs of infection, so that was good. "Demons got Gerald and Thomas."

_That_ got Dean's attention. "Well, fuck," he said.

Sam nodded solemnly, staring at the convent. The grass and surrounding gardens were overgrown, the windows dirty and broken, the stones worn from the elements. But there was something about the place, something that almost called to Sam in a way that he'd never felt before…

Before he knew it, he was at the main door, tugging on the chain holding it shut. "Need the bolt cutters," he called over his shoulder, and Dean appeared a few seconds after, cutters in hand. Minutes later, they walked into the convent's chapel, the scene of a horrible crime over 30 years ago.

Sam stopped in the shadows of the entranceway, staring at the altar and just… listening, _feeling_. The something was still calling to him, and he slowly stepped out from the shadows, still staring in the direction of the altar.

"Do you believe in angels?" he suddenly asked Dean.

"What?" Sam looked away from the altar and watched Dean frown. "No, I don't," he answered. "No one's ever seen one, so why should they or even God exist?"

Sam nodded, looking back towards the altar. Just as he passed the spot where the front row of pews should have stood, however, a headache blasted from nowhere and he lost track of where he was, of all sense of direction —

"Sam!"

_A pretty woman with blonde hair and pale, blue eyes was arranging things on top of the altar in the convent's chapel, almost like she was preparing for a ceremony. She wore a long, white dress and moved with a strange grace that seemed almost inhuman. "Everything's ready," said a man from behind her. She turned to look at him and smiled as he shifted nervously from one foot to the other._

"_Don't be scared," she told him with a soft smile. "We're going to save the world."_

"Sammy!"

_The scene shifted and the woman was pressed against the front of the altar, gasping and glowing with a light that seemed almost familiar —_

"_You did it," breathed another voice, also female. "It had to be you, Sammy. It _always_ had to be you."_

"Gah!" Sam slammed back into the present and found he was on his knees, hands pressed against his skull and eyes squeezed shut against the pain that assaulted his senses. He gasped for air and tried to curl forward.

"Sam, c'mon, breathe," Dean's voice came from in front of him and he cracked his eyes open to see that Dean was holding him upright by his upper arms as his head continued to pound. "It's just a vision, Sammy, breathe through it."

It was funny, Sam would think later, how everything he'd bottled up inside had been waiting for something, for the right trigger. Somehow, this was it. The tears spilled from his eyes before he could stop them, and the sobs welled up and escaped and Sam couldn't keep things in, not anymore. He leaned into Dean and felt his brother wrap his arms around him as his chin settled on top of Sam's head.

"It's OK," Dean whispered, "you're safe, Sammy, you're just fine, let it out…" He tightened his arms around Sam's shoulders. "I'm here, not leaving you…"

Sam gave into his grief. He cried for Jessica, for his mom, his dad, for Scott, and Gerald and Thomas; he cried and remembered his time in captivity, the emotions that had rolled through him during those weeks without his family, the fear, the addiction, the power, the anger…

When Sam's tears began to slow he found himself desperate to talk for the first time since John had stepped out of Bobby's house to die. "It hurt," he whispered.

"Sam?"

"When he — Azazel, when he possessed me. It _hurt_, and I heard every single thing he said to you and Dad before shoving me into this _cage_ in my mind and leaving that cabin." Sam took a shuddering breath and began to tell Dean everything. He told him how being addicted felt, how the power had felt, what it was like sending those demons back to Hell with nothing more than his brain and the blood, how he'd thought about giving up time after time only to remember that Dean would want him to stay strong, to never give in.

Sam talked about starving, about being fed home-cooked meals, having almost normal conversations with Derrick and all the visions he'd had and how the voice that had been his but _not_ his terrified him. He talked about learning to control the telekinesis, taking on Vashta and unintentionally unlocking the seal over his abilities, about fearing for Dean, for John and for himself. He told Dean about meeting Rachel, about detoxing, and the hallucinations of Max Miller, himself, their mother, Meg…

Sam told Dean what he could remember of the day they came to rescue him, how he fought so hard to keep their dad from having to make that Deal, how he'd felt when Dean had been tortured by Tara, the despair in his heart when Azazel won… Then Sam told Dean about the other side of his hallucinations with Azazel and their father, how Azazel talked about an army, called him a leader and told him it was destiny. He spoke of nothing but anger and disappointment from John, how that had led to the things he'd told John and Dean the day before John's time was up, how desperate he'd been for forgiveness when he thought it was impossible. Sam even told Dean the details of his nightmares, how scared he was of himself and what he could do, how he feared, even now, for Dean's safety when he wasn't sure he could control the things he could do…

Dean let Sam talk, hanging onto him like he understood Sam's fear of being let go for any reason. They stayed like that for a long time, kneeling on a cold, stone floor in a small, shadow-filled chapel that had seen true evil and known the taste of death.

* * *

_TBC_


	9. Chapter Nine: Safe

**From the Shadows**

**Chapter Nine: Safe**

**I wasn't planning on updating so soon, but whatever. Spoilers for season five and a factoid from season six awaits. I hope you've enjoyed this story, the next one should be starting up in a few days, internets willing, of course.

* * *

**

It was after nightfall when the Impala crossed the state border into Virginia. Sam was sleeping in the passenger seat, and for the first time, he was sleeping peacefully without the strain of any nightmares. Dean had the radio going with the volume low so as not to wake Sam up. When he had walked into that convent, the last thing Dean had expected was a vision and a full-on catharsis from Sam, but he knew it was long overdue, so he had listened to every word.

It had been painful to hear everything Sam had gone through, and honestly, Dean wasn't certain he'd be able to go through that again. But, Sam had needed to let go, and Dean had been trying to prepare himself for that to happen at some point. He hated the guilt Sam carried, didn't blame him at all for the Deal John had made; he understood that sometimes, you couldn't change the future, no matter how hard you tried. Dean couldn't deny that he wished that John had been able to save them without making that Deal, that he could still be with them, guiding them, telling them what he knew.

The secret John had left on Dean's shoulders suddenly felt even heavier. If Sam knew about it, he would feel condemned to a fate he didn't want, Dean was sure of it. He strengthened his resolve to never tell Sam what John had told him. Sam didn't need saving, and even if he did, Dean had no intentions of going anywhere. They would see things through together, come what may.

He felt some amount of grief over the fact that Scott, Gerald and Thomas were all dead, but Sam was still next to him, was still breathing, rebuilding, and still trusting his older brother with his life. Dean didn't know if he was worthy of that trust, but he was determined to hold onto it with everything he had for as long as possible. It was just all about he had left.

Dean wondered what was going to happen in that chapel, why Azazel had gone there of all places. What was there that was so important to a demon? For the first time, Dean finally understood that Azazel's plans were much bigger than anything they could have expected. He still didn't know where things were going, but Sam's vision suggested that the chapel might be a large part of the future, maybe even the culminating point. For the first time, Dean had doubts that he could last that long, could be strong enough for the both of them, but Dean had been looking out for Sam for so long that he wasn't sure he really had a choice in the matter, anymore.

_I just need to keep us alive and together,_ he told himself as he sped down the silent road, _and maybe the rest will work out on its own._

He wasn't so sure he believed that, but he didn't have much choice in the matter. Glancing once more at Sam, Dean pressed his foot down harder in search of the nearest motel. They both needed the rest, maybe even a break from it all.

Even as he thought it, Dean knew that was likely to never happen.

* * *

Jo stepped into the Roadhouse, bag slung over one shoulder as she steeled herself to see her mother again. Ellen was cleaning glasses behind the bar, but she looked up the moment the door opened.

"Hey, Mom," Jo whispered.

The glass in Ellen's hand slipped free and shattered to the floor. Moments later, Ellen had crossed around the bar and Jo's bag dropped to the floor as the older woman grabbed up her daughter in a tight hug.

"You're all right," she whispered. "Thank God you're OK."

"Yeah," Jo said softly. "Sam and Dean helped with that."

Eleen choked out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob and she clutched Jo to her even more tightly. "Good," she said, voice rough with suppressed emotions. "I missed you so much, hon."

Jo's eyes were stinging with unshed tears. "I missed you, too," she replied before burying her face in her mother's shoulder. "I'm sorry for what I said before."

"I know," Ellen said. "So am I. So am I."

* * *

Ava had never liked funerals, but there was no way she could avoid attending this one. Why hadn't she had a vision, some way to warn Scott of what was coming? Why hadn't Sam? Squeezing her eyes shut, Ava leaned against Brady as they listened to the local priest in Lafayette give his eulogy.

After a moment, she looked out across the cemetery and was unsurprised to see Sam and Dean approaching, wearing simple black suits and looking sad, maybe even a little resigned. "There they are," she breathed to Brady.

"Who? Sam and Dean?" Ava nodded and carefully lifted a hand, indicating her presence to the brother and gesturing to the two empty seats beside her. Sam sat next to her with Dean on his other side.

"Hey," Sam said softly, looking just as pale as he'd been the last time she'd seen him. Ava wondered if he was getting any better.

"Hey," she whispered back. "How are you?"

"Fine," Sam replied, and Ava couldn't help but reach out to squeeze his knee, knowing he was probably wishing he could have saved Scott somehow.

Scott's father had survived the attack the week before, but was confined to a wheelchair in the front row of chairs. Ava couldn't help but feel sorrow for the man. He'd lost his wife years ago in a fire just like Sam's mother, and now his only son was gone, too. She remembered a line from one of those _Lord of the Rings_ movies: "Parents should never have to bury their own children."

For the first time since hearing about Scott's death, Ava felt real dread for the future. How were they supposed to be soldiers in a demon army if they could be killed off so easily? What if that wasn't really the plan?

Ava had no answers, and neither did Sam; well, no answers that could help them to understand everything. Something dark lay in their future, something that Ava was beginning to think might change them in ways they couldn't predict, not even Sam, despite everything he'd been through so far.

There was silence as Scott's coffin was slowly lowered into the ground. She couldn't see Mr. Carey's face, but she somehow knew the man's grief must be beyond tears, now. She sniffed and discretely wiped at her eyes with one hand while clutching Brady's hand with the other. None of this was fair.

When people began moving up towards Scott's father to offer their condolences, Ava couldn't bring herself to step forward. Unsurprisingly, it seemed that Sam and Dean felt the same, so, she led them all away from Scott's grave and over to the small parking lot.

"It's good to see you both again," she said, standing beside the Impala.

"Yeah," Dean said with a sad smile. "You, too."

"Are you _sure_ that Ava's safe?" Brady asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and nudging her closer to his side.

Sam looked weary and downtrodden, but he somehow managed a smile. "Honestly?" he said. "None of us are completely safe. I truly don't believe that any Hunters will come after you, and the demons are under orders not to harm us. I know it isn't much," he added, looking Brady in the eyes, "but for now, it's the best any of us has got."

Ava looked up at Brady and watched him nod slowly. "Anything you find out about why you guys are like this or what this demon's plans are supposed to be," he said, "you'll tell us?"

Sam nodded, and there was a moment of silence.

"We need to get going," Ava finally said, "got to drive back home and everything."

Sam and Dean nodded, shaking hands with Brady and allowing Ava to hug them before she and her fiancé headed away to the other side of the parking lot.

Ava stood beside the passenger door, waiting for Brady to get in the car and unlock it, when there was movement just out of the corner of her eye. She turned and froze.

Standing far enough away that Ava only just recognized her, stood Tara. She was grinning, shoving one hand in her jeans' pocket and raising the other one to wave. Ava blinked and Tara was gone.

"Ava?" called Brady from inside the car. "C'mon, we need to get going!"

"Yeah," Ava said softly as she turned back to the car. "Everything needs to get going." It wasn't comforting to think about.

* * *

Azazel didn't look happy. "You should've found out what he knew while you had him here," he said.

Derrick blinked and he noticed Buck's jaw drop open. "I'm sorry?" he said.

Azazel rolled his eyes and leaned against Derrick's desk. "There may have been things that Lehne remembered," he told Derrick, "thing's no one's supposed to know. If Sam has learned things that he shouldn't have…" He trailed off and Derrick wondered if that meant Sam wasn't such a favorite anymore.

"Oh, well," Azazel sighed suddenly. "I doubt it'll change things in the long run, anyway." He turned to leave.

"So, we're not in trouble?" Buck asked from the corner of the room.

"Well, not Derrick," Azazel said, pausing by the door. "He only acted in accordance with my wishes, but you…" He shook his head and raised a hand.

Buck screamed, dropping to the floor as he writhed in pain. Derrick winced and looked away.

"I'm going to have your bones found and burned," Azazel said calmly. "I believe they're over in Ireland, yes?"

"Please don't!" Buck gasped out.

"My special children are not to be touched by demon hands," Azazel told Buck, voice suddenly very cold. "You disobeyed me. That will never happen again."

He left, and a few minutes later Buck burned to death, meatsuit and all.

* * *

_Hey, I know it's been awhile since we last talked, but I got an email from Sam the other day. He was asking about you._

_Why didn't you tell Sam that you changed your email and phone number? I mean, you two were really close at school, even through your breakdown and everything. What happened? You kept up with me pretty well, so why not him?_

_Anyway, Sam was wanting to know what you've been up to, and honestly, so would I. Are you still at Stanford? Did you transfer somewhere else? I know you're not dead, so what gives? I haven't seen you since I started attending school again, so I can only assume you're somewhere else. Are you still going for that medical degree? You told me once you were interested in pharmaceuticals, so did you find a college better suited to your needs?_

_Please email me back. It's been a while since I last heard anything, and I'm worried about you._

_Rebecca Warren_

With a drawn-out sigh, the blonde man at the computer pushed away from his desk, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. He'd kept up with Becky because that was the sort of thing he was supposed to do, but losing contact with Sam wasn't as hard as he'd thought it might be. Then again, killing Jessica had changed Sam and put him back out on the road where he was supposed to be, so he wasn't so surprised that things had worked out like that.

What _did_ bother him was the sudden renewed interest. He was out of Sam's life for good, wasn't he? Had something happened he was unaware of?

Snagging his cell phone from his bed, he flipped it open and scrolled through his contacts, hitting the talk button when he found who he was looking for.

"This is Rachel Nave."

"It's me."

Rachel drew in a sharp breath of air. "Why are you calling me? Azazel said we're not supposed to contact each other outside of —"

"Extenuating circumstances?" he cut her off. "Yeah, well I think this might count." He paused before asking. "Have you been in contact with Sam recently?"

There was a moment of silence. "Sam Winchester?"

"Who else would I be talking about?"

Rachel sighed. "Yeah, back in June. Why?"

The man closed his eyes and flopped backwards onto his bed. "Does he know?"

"Know what?"

"About _us_, Rachel."

"Oh." There was another moment of silence. "Yeah. Azazel asked me to talk to him when he was under observation."

"Under —?" The man broke off and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "What's been going on?"

Rachel heaved a sigh. "You have to understand that I only do as I'm told —" she started.

"Rachel."

Rachel didn't say anything for a moment. "Azazel took Sam from his dad and brother, fed him demon blood and made him learn how to use the powers that come from using it."

Well. That was something, wasn't it?

"When did he decide to test it out?" he asked. "I thought the plan was to wait until after the Gates had been opened and the First Seal broken."

"I think it may have been a spur of the moment kinda thing," Rachel answered. "Still, he managed to get John Winchester to sell his soul and now he's in Hell."

"Does he really think that John'll do it?" the man asked.

"What? Break the First Seal?" Rachel sighed. "I met John the night Sam and I went to Prom together, and he seemed far too stubborn a man to break anytime soon, if ever."

Nodding, the man slowly sat up again. "So, Sam knows about all of us, then?"

"Not exactly," Rachel said slowly. "I mean, I revealed myself, obviously, but all I said was that there were others out, others like me. If Sam suspects you, it's only because you somehow gave him reason to do so when you took over that meatsuit of yours." Suddenly, there was the sound of a crash over the line. "Dammit," Rachel sighed, "that'll be Brittney's little boys going at it, again."

"Brittney?"

"My — Rachel's older sister," Rachel answered. "Said I'd babysit, but those two boys are almost as bad as newborn demons coming back to Earth to wreak havoc."

The man couldn't help but snort. "I should let you get back to them, then. We don't need to have a demon around who can't keep an eye on small boys, do we?"

Rachel huffed out a laugh. "No, I don't think so," she replied genially. "You take care of yourself, OK? I know you've got some pretty high goals to work towards."

"Yeah," the man sighed. "Hopefully the test in November will be successful."

"You're actually gonna test it?" Rachel sounded excited. "Who's your test subject?"

"Who else?" the man said with a small grin.

"Sam. Of course," Rachel said with a short bout of laughter. "You gonna oversee it yourself?"

"Can Sam sense demons?"

"Yeah, last I heard."

"Then no," the man said, running a hand through his hair as he glanced over at his desk, "I'll send in one of my guys, have them hide inside one of the locals once we find the best test sight."

"Cool. Lemme know how it goes?"

"Yeah, I will."

"Awesome." There was another crashing sound and Rachel heaved out another sigh. "I'd better go. Take care, Brady."

Brady Miller ended the call and flipped his phone shut. Jiggling it in one hand, he stood and returned to his computer, spending a few minutes in silence as he tried to think of an appropriate response.

_Becky —_

_I guess Sam and I just lost track of each other. That kind of thing happens, you know it does. Sam was just different after Jess died. Anyway, to answer your questions, I didn't transfer anywhere. I actually decided to take a year off from school, make sure I've really got my head on straight after everything. Sam helped a lot, I'm not saying he didn't, but after he left school it started to get hard again, so I headed back home to people I could trust for help. You can give Sam my email and phone number if you want, I'd be more than happy to catch up with him. I assume he's still with his brother, so give them both my best, OK?_

_Brady Miller_

That sounded good enough, so with a click, Brady sent the email on its way. Hopefully Sam wouldn't want to meet up, because then his cover would be blown and he _needed_ this body.

Clicking out of his browser, Brady pulled up his latest homework assignment for his Chemistry class at Harvard. Once he passed this class, he'd be one step closer to being in the right place once the final Seal was broken. Azazel was counting on him to do this right.

* * *

"We've gotta find the others."

Dean looked up from his burger at Sam, who was sitting on his bed in their current motel room, hands loosely clasped in front of him and his elbows perched on his knees. He looked sad and beyond exhausted, but there was also a hint of determination in his eyes.

"The other special children," Dean clarified, leaning back in his chair and staring at Sam, who nodded his answer. "We will."

"We need to do it as soon as possible," Sam told him.

"I know," Dean replied, setting his burger down with regret and turning to face Sam completely. "This ain't gonna be easy," he said, carefully watching Sam's face, "you know that, right?"

Sam nodded again. "I can't let anyone else die," he said. "I should've been there when Scott —"

"Dude, you couldn't have been there," Dean cut him off. "You had no way of knowing, no visions —"

"Probably because of the drugs Buck gave me," Sam interjected and Dean nodded.

"Exactly. Neither of us can be all the places we wanna be. It sucks, I know, but like it or not, people are gonna die. All we can do is try to reduce the number as much as _humanly_ possible." He sighed and scrubbed at his face. "It's late, Sammy, and you look like Angela the zombie."

Sam snorted. "I'm probably only gonna have more nightmares."

"Those will go away with time," Dean said confidently. "All you've ever needed to do was open up in that girly way of yours."

The pillow that came his way narrowly missed his food and Dean grinned. "You're lucky my food's intact. Now get some sleep, Sammy, you really need it."

Sam nodded. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean smiled, cleared his throat and returned to his food, tossing the pillow Sam had thrown at him back in Sam's direction. They still had a lot of things to fix, but Dean felt like Sam was _finally_ on the road to recovery. There was something big coming that they couldn't even _begin_ to try and predict, but Dean was going to do everything he could to meet things head-on and protect Sam from it. All he had to do was keep them alive and together, no matter what. And he'd do it, whatever it took.

When Sam fell asleep that night, Dean sat by the window and kept watch. And when Sam woke from nightmares, Dean was there to calm him down, just like always. _I just need to keep us alive and together, _he reassured himself, _just like Dad wanted.

* * *

_

_END  
_


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